


Hideaway in Daylight

by agentverbivore (verbivore8642)



Series: Crime AU [3]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Porn, Blood and Injury, Crime AU, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flashbacks, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Guns, Injury, Jemma's POV, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Pining, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Undercover as Married, Undercover as a Couple, Wall Sex, discussions of prior canonical SkyeWard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-06
Updated: 2015-07-20
Packaged: 2018-03-29 04:35:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 66,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3882523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verbivore8642/pseuds/agentverbivore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she and Skye are captured during a mission, Jemma is forced to reassume her former undercover criminal identity. Things only get more complicated when Fitz storms in to save them, having recruited the last person anyone would expect to help. Going undercover in the criminal underworld a second time would take its toll on any relationship, and - as she reflects on how she first fell in love with him - Jemma fears that this mission will change hers and Fitz’s completely.</p>
<p>A sequel to/continuation of "<a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386922">Wait Out the Sun</a>."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dangerous (Let's Do It Again)

**Author's Note:**

> The original canon-divergent premise of [WOtS](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386922) is that the pod floated when Ward sent it out of the plane, meaning that canon is only applicable through the moment that the pod hits the water. Ward's intentions in that moment were never explored or elucidated in the original fic.
> 
> Whitehall, Bakshi, and brainwashing do not exist in this universe, partially because I established it long before they were introduced in canon - but mostly because I think brainwashing is a narrative cop-out.
> 
> If you haven't read _[Wait Out the Sun](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2386922)_ before, I would urge you to do so prior to starting this fic - it relies heavily on the original. Although reading the epilogue, _[A Little Light](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3217661)_ , isn't strictly necessary, it may help elucidate a few things about the circumstances surrounding the chronological beginning of the sequel.
> 
> A huge thanks to MK again for being my sounding board and encouraging me to write this at all - it's been a nerve-wracking few months, working on this sequel, and I hope you enjoy it!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note about Ward:  
> Because both of FitzSimmons were rescued without sustaining great injury, a few things about Ward's situation are different from canon, namely that in this AU he is treated like a normal prisoner of war and he was never suicidal. This is done not to erase Ward's canonical depression, but to demonstrate what I think would have happened if circumstances had been different. (The idea being that without his own guilt and with proper care from SHIELD, he might never have resorted to such drastic measures.)
> 
> An important note about Ward's characterization: I'm no great fan of him as a person, but he's a very interesting character. The portrayal of him within this fic is meant to reflect the nuances of his characterization and not my own personal opinion of him. Remember, this is all written within Jemma's point of view, and she has her own, very poignant opinions about him. I know a lot of people don't like reading about Ward, but I hope you'll stick with me for this - his inclusion is for a purpose, and is intended to reveal certain things about FitzSimmons and their relationship, not to either condemn or redeem him.
> 
> Almost forgot to note that "love is a process" was lovingly borrowed from John Green, on whose tumblr I found it!

 

[ ](http://agentverbivore.tumblr.com/post/121295076803/hideaway-in-daylight-sequel-to-wait-out-the-sun)

\------

_Kidnapping: The Last Day (Part 2)_

 

A loud whirr echoed through the trees, disturbing the field’s windy silence, and Jemma turned to look at Ward. He appeared relaxed, but his finger remained on the pistol’s trigger and his mouth was set in a thin line. Only someone who had watched his false persona laugh a hundred times before would know the difference between true calm and the still figure of a predator ready to pounce, and Jemma’s mouth twisted at the thought.

The drive here had been without incident, but now everyone was tense and no one was talking, and it made her even more acutely aware that Fitz was not by her side. She wanted to reach out and take hold of his hand, or feel the press of his arm against hers, just to know that he would be beside her in everything that happened from now on. Of course, that was impossible today, and it made her stomach churn.

“Two men,” Ward murmured, shifting into a more defensive position as footsteps made their way through the trees. “Neither of them trained for spec-ops.”

Exhaling slowly, Jemma nodded and turned in the direction from which they were most likely approaching. The aluminum case glinted dully before her in the cloudy light, and she dread clawed up the back of her neck at the thought of what was within, at the knowledge that she had no idea what it could really do.

A year ago, when she and Fitz had arrived at the pre-arranged apartment for the final day of their mission, he’d been so coldly calm that she’d found it unnerving, unable to look directly at him for too long – she’d worried that she’d see defeat in his eyes when she did. Instead, of course, he’d surprised her as he usually did, successfully distracting her from her anxiety by finally confessing his feelings. She inhaled, hoping above everything else that he understood now exactly how much she loved him, and that one day he’d be able to forgive her for agreeing to do this on her own.

The rustling of approaching people continued to get louder, and branches started to move along the tree line. Jemma set her shoulders and cocked her pistol, thinking darkly about how it was time for one more last stand.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day One (Part 1)_

 

Watching Skye balance a bagel, cream cheese packet, and two hot drinks as she navigated through the crowded Philadelphia coffee shop, Jemma stretched in her cramped, wooden chair. Surprisingly, Skye managed to avoid any collisions, and only dropped the unopened cream cheese once, grinning as she placed Jemma’s drink on their table.

“One chai latte for the Brit,” Skye chirped, tearing into the bagel almost before she’d sat down. “Now, where were we before –”

“Your stomach monster attacked?” Jemma laughed as she avoided being kicked by the other woman. “I don’t remember, honestly.” 

Skye rolled her eyes, talking through a mouthful of bagel. “Liar.” 

“You know, for someone who at one point was thoroughly grossed out by the idea of Fitz doing anything sexual, you’ve become rather nosy about it.”

Shrugging, Skye paused while she pressed a few keys on her laptop and frowned at whatever data she’d just received. They were running on-location mission support undercover while the team attempted to retrieve an 084 as it was transferred from one Hydra facility to another. Or, while Hydra received it from an outside source – they weren’t actually clear about that, which was why Skye was needed nearby rather than running support from the Bus. Jemma was here to bolster her undercover identity and to interpret any biochemical data received about the 084. Although Coulson had been as vague as ever about what they would be retrieving, he feared that it might be a biochemical weapon of some kind and thus would necessitate Jemma’s expertise.

She was still displeased about Fitz being kept at the Playground, but he was able to send Skye messages as they conferred about the mission’s status, and that had eased Jemma’s discomfit somewhat. It felt strange to be undercover without him, even if they’d only been here for a couple hours, but she was looking forward to being welcomed home tonight. He’d half-jokingly promised to reward her for a successful mission, and she was rather eager to cash in said reward – which had sort of been her and Skye’s topic of conversation before she’d decided to get them refreshments.

“I’ve decided it’s kinda like a car crash,” Skye answered once she’d finished typing, leaning back and propping her feet on an empty chair. “It’s basically horrifying, but I also want to know what happened. Besides, I’m living vicariously through you. The last time I got any action it only involved kissing, and it was with a serial murderer.” Her tone was light, but Jemma knew how sensitive Skye still was about Ward.

“I thought you and Trip... weren’t you sort of....” Jemma smiled over her chai, raising one eyebrow as Skye ducked her head. 

Twisting the last third of her bagel between her fingers, Skye clearly couldn’t help the little grin that graced her features at the thought of their teammate (who was currently tailing a Hydra op). “I dunno, maybe. We haven’t... I mean, he hasn’t asked. But, like, I’m _positive_ I’ve seen him staring at me when I’m training with May. And we’ve sorta been flirting –”

Jemma barely suppressed a snort of laughter. “If that’s _sort of_ flirting, I can’t imagine what you’re like when you actively decide to pursue someone.”

Skye grinned at that and popped the last of her bagel into her mouth. “I’m a force of nature,” she said grandly, although the effect was somewhat ruined by her chewing through it. “Now, c’mon, I still want an answer to that question.” 

Groaning, Jemma dropped her head into her hands. “Oh, I don’t know, Skye....”

“You do, too. There’s gotta be one thing that stands out in your mind.”

Letting out an indignant huff, Jemma tried to figure out exactly what she wanted to reveal to her friend that was true enough but also wouldn’t _completely_ mortify her boyfriend if Skye decided to tease him about it. Which she inevitably would.

“There _was_ this time...” she started, feeling heat flush her cheeks at the memory. “I mean, not _one_ time, it’s been more than once, now, but....” Her voice was so small that she was almost hoping it wouldn’t be audible. “Um, up against a wall. When he’s holding me up, and, um... it’s really....” Jemma swallowed again, unable to look at Skye over the warmth in her face. “He’s very good at that.”

Skye whistled, and Jemma glanced up to see her grinning lewdly over the top of her laptop. “Alright, I’m suitably impressed. Who’d’ve thought that skinny Fitz could multi-task like that –”

“He did strength training before the mission,” Jemma mumbled, dropping her gaze again. “It... that helped.”

Nodding into an amused snort, Skye took a sip from her paper cup. “I always sorta expect that every time you two have sex it’s, like, starlight and making love and reciting the periodic table. And then I remember that I’ve _heard_ otherwise.”

Jemma was fairly certain her whole face was bright red by this point. “We’ve gotten better –” 

“Not before I had to swap bunks. And, yeah, right.”

“We have!” Her voice was far higher pitched than normal now, but she felt the need to defend them. It hadn’t been _their_ fault, per se, that they’d gotten used to being intentionally loud during sex while undercover. “I bought a decibel reader, so I know for a fact that we’ve been much quieter in –” 

There was a loud thunk as Skye dropped her forehead to the table. Her mumbling was indistinct, but Jemma thought she heard something to the effect of: “Of course she did. A decibel reader. Why’d I expect anything different?” She sat up quickly when Jemma kicked her shin, grinning at Jemma’s obvious embarrassment.

“Thank _God_ our comms don’t need to be on yet,” Jemma muttered, draining the last of her tea.

“That’s what _you_ think,” Skye teased, devolving into giggles at the horrified look that spread instantly across Jemma’s face. “I’m kidding, _kidding_! You think I’d really do that to you? I’m not a total asshole. Although....” Tapping a finger against her chin, she stared thoughtfully across the table. “Why would you care? I mean, that was how your relationship started, sorta, right? Making sure that a shitton of people knew you were screwing?”

Jemma blanched. “Thank you for making it sound so _vulgar_ , Skye. I mean, we... it’s different when it’s all our co-workers and not a group of strangers! Obviously. And there’s so much more to it, now. It’s _us_ , you know, not just sex.” She reached for the locket at her neck, tracing the pad of her thumb over the etched microscope. 

Giving her friend a soft grin, Skye leaned forward, having evidently had enough taunting for the moment. “How’s it going, by the way?” 

The smile that spread across Jemma’s face was so wide it almost hurt, and she glanced down at the necklace Fitz had given her last week for their pseudo-anniversary. In all honesty, she couldn’t remember ever having been happier than she had been these past few months. Their work was advancing at a fantastic rate, what with the lessened restrictions placed on their research with Coulson as director and the increased resources afforded them as division heads. Most of all, they still couldn’t get enough of each other. She’d worried initially that dating and working together would result in one or both of them becoming tired of being around the other all the time, but they spent enough time on their own work within the joint lab that it never seemed to be a problem.

And, somehow, Fitz kept finding little ways to make her fall more deeply in love with him, even when she thought that it was impossible to do so. Such as when she’d been sick last month, and she’d awoken in the middle of the afternoon to find that he’d heated canned soup for her, done and folded her laundry, and made her a small, copper rose, which he’d placed by her bedside. He’d insisted that his work that day had consisted of waiting for simulations to run so he’d had the extra time, but that didn’t lessen the sweetness of the gesture even one iota in her eyes. (In any case, she’d rewarded him so well when she was better that he’d said he couldn’t see straight for an hour afterwards.)

“It’s fantastic, actually,” Jemma murmured, feeling a little like she’d be bragging if she were any more enthusiastic than that. A small, childish part of her thought that running and yelling about her feelings wouldn’t adequately describe them, but being quite so demonstrative had never been in her nature. Besides, telling Fitz how she felt about them – about what they’d become in the aftermath of their undercover mission – seemed redundant when she spent so much time simply showing him. Even though he was better than she at putting his feelings into words, the moments that stood out in her memory almost always involved the way he looked at her, as if he knew she’d never leave but that he also couldn’t quite believe she was there. 

Skye made a happy cooing sound and clapped her hands together, leaning forward over her laptop. “ _God_ , you two are almost nauseatingly adorable. Have you ever talked about –” She stopped mid-sentence as her laptop made a noise, and her face paled. After a few quick keystrokes, she snapped the laptop shut and stood. “Greyhound.”

Grabbing her jacket, Jemma did a nonchalant sweep of the coffee shop and then followed Skye to the back exit, trying to ignore the knot of panic in the pit of her stomach. “Greyhound” was the call for all agents to return to the Playground immediately in the event of a security breach – or an attack.

They strode quickly around the corner towards the car, with Jemma keeping an eye on their surroundings as Skye stored the laptop in her bag. Annoyingly, the crosswalk light turned red just as they got there, so they had to wait, while Jemma tried not to worry about Fitz being back at the Playground when the alert had gone out.

“Harker!” A familiar voice called out a name nearly forgotten to Jemma, who turned halfway around before someone in the crowded sidewalk screamed and she craned her neck in that direction instead. Then something blunt hit her hard on the back of her head, and everything went black. 

When Jemma came to, she didn’t open her eyes immediately, instantly remembering that something had gone horribly wrong and knowing that she should try to ascertain her surroundings before revealing that she was awake. The floor was moving underneath her, rough, thin carpeting just barely softening an unyielding metal surface. Based on those observations, and the fact that she could hear a motor and tires turning over asphalt, she deduced that she was lying in the back of a vehicle of some kind. What ultimately made her open her eyes was that she noticed the distinct smell of blood, and the first thing she saw was Skye’s laptop bag turned over on its side. 

“Aw, thank the lord,” came that same familiar voice, and Jemma twisted around to see Georgie Weller leaning over an unconscious Skye. Georgie’s hands were pressed to the other woman’s upper thigh, holding down a rag that was rapidly becoming inundated with blood. “She got shot when we took ya, I dunno what to do –” 

Temporarily setting aside the shock that she was in a windowless van with one of the Wellers, Jemma crawled over to examine the wound and concentrate on Skye. The shot was a through-and-through, but she desperately needed to stop the bleeding. “I need to get her to a hospital –”

“Sorry, Harker,” Georgie said as she scooted back against the opposite wall of the van and raised her pistol. “Can’t do that. You’re gonna hafta make do with what we got at the safe house. Shouldn’t be more’n another twenty minutes.”

Jemma did what she could to slow the bleeding, leaning as hard as she could on Skye’s leg without falling as the van bounced along an unsteady road, and then glanced over at Georgie. “What the bloody hell happened?”

Setting her mouth into a thin line, Georgie settled herself more firmly against the van’s wall, propping her pistol on her knee. “We just saved your asses.” Her face was gaunt even in the vehicle’s dim ceiling light, and something about the way she held herself was starkly different to the sharp, confident woman Jemma remembered. “Now shush – don’t want anyone hearing that there’re people back here.”

The van flew over a bump in the road, almost sending Jemma crashing onto the floor. Once she’d resettled, she did a quick evaluation of Skye, making sure she hadn’t sustained any other injuries. Taking in her friend’s face, almost peaceful in unconsciousness, Jemma let out a tense breath and counted to ten to calm the fears that were starting to squeeze at her stomach. They’d just been abducted, Skye was injured, and Jemma had no idea what to do.

 

\------

 

_Mission: Fifty-Seventh Day_

 

As she shivered in the storeroom of Georgie’s bar, Jemma thought it was bizarre that this back room was actually colder than it was outside. Atlanta was suffering from a spring cold snap, and the chill seemed to cling to the concrete bricks, infusing the musty room with an air of unexpected briskness. She’d been back here for a couple hours while Fitz hovered around Charlie’s almost-inner circle, working to get close enough that they could really start to impress them. The Wellers had learned early that Jemma had a “menial amount of medical knowledge” from helping her mother as a child, and had assigned her to help Georgie’s husband, Shawn, sort through pills and medications to be sold on the black market. Why Jemma Harker (whose mother had been a nurse) was more qualified to do this kind of menial labor than anyone else was beyond her, but since they were still working to ingratiate themselves to the Wellers, she hadn’t argued. Actually, were the room not so bloody cold this would be rather more enjoyable than many of the other tasks to which she could be assigned – Shawn was a pleasant, intelligent man, and she was enjoying their banal chatter. He was a highly ranked surgeon at a local hospital, so she actually found his stories relatively interesting; the reason he was doing this work (which was just as beneath him as it was her) was that he was the source by which the Wellers had acquired this stash.

During a break in their conversation, Jemma dropped the morphine packet she had been holding to stretch her fingers and try to improve her circulation. Shawn made a quiet, sympathetic noise and reached his own arms out in front of him, his darker skin just barely catching the meager, overhead lighting. Before Shawn could say anything, however, boot steps came up behind her and two warm hands wrapped around her shoulders. “D’you want me to get you gloves or something?”

Jemma practically leapt off of her apple box to throw herself at Fitz, who smiled as he opened his arms for her. “Darling,” she exclaimed, hiding her face (and warming up her nose) in the crook of his neck. “I’ve missed you.”

Fitz chuckled, rubbing his hands up and down her arms. “Missed you, too, Jem, though it’s only been two –” He cut himself off with a hiss as she moved her hands up the back of his shirt and pressed her palms flat against the skin of his back, his entire body tensing from the sudden onset of goosebumps. “Jesus _Christ_ Jemma, you could’ve warned me first.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled unapologetically, pulling herself closer and nuzzling into his skin. His jaw loosened above her head after a few moments, and he shifted his arms to wrap as much of his leather jacket around her as possible.

“Want me to leave this with you? I’m not staying for long, just wanted to say hi.”

Sighing, Jemma shook her head and leaned back to meet his eyes. “No, it’s okay. Besides, my hands are warming up already.”

“Yeah, and now my back’s bloody freezing,” he muttered, but he smiled as she leaned up to press her lips against his. Not for the first time on the mission, Jemma reflected that it was a very good thing that Fitz was rather proficient at kissing, because it helped to dull the awkwardness of needing to regularly snog her best friend. By this point in their mission, though, she almost looked forward to this aspect of their deadly game of pretend – but she attributed that again to the skill of her partner. Before being sent off on their undercover assignment by Coulson, Jemma hadn’t dated anyone since their days at Sci-Ops, so even pretending to be with someone was rather refreshing.

The sound of Shawn shifting the carton on which he’d been working prompted her to break away and pretend to glance self-consciously around. “See you in a couple hours,” Fitz murmured against her temple, leaning in again for one more lingering kiss.

“Love you most,” Jemma called after him, and he grinned as he pulled open the door. 

“Love you best,” Fitz answered, ducking his head at the kiss she blew over the tips of her fingers and letting the door fall closed.

Shawn chuckled as she returned to her carton, watching as she picked up where she’d left off. “You two sure have that nauseatingly-sweet thing down, huh?" 

Jemma shrugged, focusing on the plastic-and-foil packets in her hands. “Hard not to, when you’re in love.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ain’t you been together since you were sixteen?”

“So?”

“No, nothin’, I just –” Shawn faltered, mouth drawing into a frown as he thought. “Just thinking about how you still feel new after all these years, you two. Like the flame hasn’t dimmed with time.”

Giving him a carefully minute smile, Jemma lowered her hands. She’d thought of this idea for her persona a few days ago and was pleased that she now had a chance to share it. “Well, we were always meant to be, he and I. You know,” she said confidentially, “sometimes I think that I loved Fitz even before I was born.” The way Shawn smiled back at her was gently patronizing, as if he thought she’d just sounded very young, and Jemma mentally prided herself on her successful deception.

“That’s all very sweet, that soulmate stuff,” Shawn started, shifting over his empty carton to make room for a new box. “But it never really made sense to me. Mama always said that love is a process, and that I get. Sits right with me. Me ‘n Georgie, we’re not like you two. We’ve gotta work at it all the time – we disagree and we fight, but the important thing at the end of the day is that we come home to the same place, y’know?”

Jemma gave him a noncommittal nod, and then reached for the notepad on which she was marking down the supplies in order to hide the warmth in her cheeks. She knew it was just part of a perceived, normal conversation between two happily married colleagues (could she consider Shawn a friend, even if his friend was her persona and not herself?), but his words had still felt like criticism. Even if said criticism was incorrect; Jemma was fully confident in the way she’d been portraying her cover’s affection for her husband. After all, it doesn’t take a genius to know how to be in love.

 

\------

 

 _Kidnapping: Day Five_ _(Part 1)_

 

The rotting, grey floorboards creaked as Jemma peeled off her sixth-to-last pair of latex gloves, mid-stride to the covered garbage can. Skye’s injury was improving, but Jemma was still worried about the very real potential for infection in this environment. Leaning against the doorframe, she took a deep breath, then let out a small cough as she accidentally inhaled a mold spore, or dust, or whatever other unsavory particles floated around this desolate ruin of a house. Everything here was filthy; even though she’d showered (albeit briefly) this morning, her hair already felt weighed down with grime.

“Harker –” Georgie stuck her head out of the living room. “C’mon over here.”

Whatever Ethan wanted from her now would probably only make her angry, but Jemma squared her shoulders and moved forward anyway, reminding herself with every step that playing along was how she was going to get herself and Skye out of this alive.

Despite the fact that the living room actually doubled as the crumbling house’s entryway, it still appeared dank and suffocating, even at the brightest time of day. Half a dozen people sat scattered over the moldy furniture, and Georgie paced behind her older brother.

“This is so fucked up,” she muttered, worrying at a thumbnail with her teeth as Jemma reluctantly approached. 

“They’ll deal,” Ethan said, his normal drawl clipped with tension. “We have what they want, they’ll deal.”

“You wanted to talk to me?” Jemma interrupted, not wanting to hear a rehash of the argument they’d been having for four days. 

He glanced up at her, bloodshot eyes squinting against the window in front of which she stood. “Yeah, we’re gonna need you to –”

A shout came from outside, followed by a quiet _zap_. The others in the room glanced at each other, but as Ethan picked up his walkie the front door slammed open, and someone tossed a small projectile into the room. Jemma recognized it as an older prototype of the remote control stealth stunner, and she dropped immediately to the floor, hearing a couple soft thuds near her as someone else did the same. A blue flash lit up the room, and the other occupants’ unconscious bodies made accompanying thumps. Peeking around the couch behind which she’d hidden, Jemma saw that the two Wellers were the only other ones who had managed to avoid being stunned, and Ethan stumbled rapidly to his feet.

Heavy boot steps thudded against the creaking floor, and Jemma stopped breathing when she saw Fitz striding through the front door, old leather jacket zipped halfway up and pistol held steadily in front of him. With at least a day’s worth of scruff, he looked almost exactly like he had before they’d returned from the mission not-quite eight months ago, eyes set into hard slits as he took in those who remained conscious.

Just as she was about to call out to him from behind the sofa, relief flooding her with adrenaline, he was followed by Grant Ward, one-time friend and two-time betrayer. The former prisoner was dressed in head-to-toe black, just as Jemma remembered from the many ops they’d run from the Bus, and held two pistols to Fitz’s one, staying a foot behind the shorter man and casing the room as any good specialist should. 

After half a beat’s silence, Fitz spoke, training his gaze on where Ethan and Georgie stared dumbly back at him. “Where the fuck is my wife?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well there you have it - ready to take another ride with me in this 'verse?


	2. Running All the Lights

_Four Days Before the Kidnapping_

 

Keeping her eyes closed, Jemma breathed deeply, forcing steadiness into her hands as she raised the gun. No sound could break through her ear guards, so the only senses available to her were touch and taste. The polymer grip was smooth and inflexible under her palm, and her afternoon tea was still sweet on her tongue. One more breath, ignoring the slight twinge in her shoulder from this morning’s workout, and she opened her eyes to unload her last three rounds into the paper sheet at the opposite end of the range. Flicking on the safety despite the now-empty barrel, she hit the switch that brought the person-shaped target to her. As the paper neared, it became abundantly clear that she hadn’t beaten Fitz’s last practice round and she swore under her breath, ripping off her safety goggles and ear guards.

“Is that the second time you’ve tried to beat me this week, or the third?” 

Jemma gave a small screech at Fitz’s voice, pirouetting around and bumping straight into him. Stumbling slightly as her weight crashed against him, Fitz caught her upper arms and held on, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. 

“You nearly gave me a heart attack,” she scolded, swatting at his chest.

“Sorry,” he murmured, pecking a kiss to her nose before his eyes slid back to her target. “You’re getting closer.”

“Oh, shut up.” She pushed him away, biting her bottom lip to try to hide her grin as she cleaned up her station and stored the pistol in the gun locker. 

“I mean, you’re definitely better than everyone else in the lab – Justin barely qualified last time.” 

He followed her around as she finished up, and she shot him a quick glare, the smug note to his voice making her face feel warm. No matter that she knew she was a very respectable shot – even Coulson had said so – the fact that she couldn’t beat Fitz was driving her a little batty. Mostly because he got to smile at her like _that_ , and it was unfair how attractive she found his smugness. 

“You’re going the right way for no dessert tonight, you know,” Jemma warned as she dumped her paper target into the trash and strode to the exit.

Since they were around other people all the time, they’d decided a few months ago on that rather banal code term for sex. Initially, it was just to be used whenever they thought they could be overheard, but now they were using it almost anytime they were outside of one of their bunks. Not that it was lost on everyone; they were around Skye far too often for her to not know generally what they were talking about, but they all had a tacit agreement not to discuss it. (At least, not when all three of them were together. Sometimes she and Jemma discussed various things related to “dessert” during their girls’ nights, once Skye had consumed the requisite amount of alcohol.)

He let out a deceptively nonchalant scoff at her threat, jogging quickly after her. “It’s not my _fault_ your score hasn’t gone up.” 

She glanced around at him from under her eyelashes, taking in the way his expression hovered between amusement and concern. They’d both been too exhausted after doing mission prep this week to be at all intimate since their anniversary, and Jemma knew that Fitz was hovering around the edge of his self-control. (The way he’d clung to her in bed this morning, mostly asleep but his body responding eagerly to her presence, had not escaped her notice. If they hadn’t already been teetering on the edge of lateness, in fact, she would have encouraged him. 

“You’re not making it any better,” she said, letting him fall into stride with her and poking him in the side. A pout worked its way into his lips, and she turned away to hide her smile; she didn’t think he even knew that he _was_ pouting, or how adorable it was.

“Would it help if I said that you’re really, really pretty?” 

“Maybe,” she answered as they turned into the empty residence hallway. “Keep going.” 

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he started, grabbing hold of her hand and tugging her back so he could wrap his arms around her waist. “And,” he lowered his voice to a whisper, “your boobs are the most fantastic that I’ve ever seen.”

The noise she made was somewhere between a laugh and a snort, and she brought her hands up to rest against his chest. “Yes, out of all three women –” 

“Hey, I’ve seen more than that!” Fitz’s voice died out on the last two words as he quickly realized that maybe he shouldn’t have made that particular argument.

“Leopold Fitz,” Jemma said, grinning up at him, “are you telling me that you’ve watched porn? Or gone to strip clubs? I’m not sure which image I find more amusing, honestly.”

His mouth worked soundlessly for a few moments, giving her the opportunity to loosen his tie as she waited. “Alright,” he said at last, sounding entirely defeated. “I don’t know how to answer that and not get in more trouble.” 

“The truth, of course.” She tapped one finger against his nose and smiled, letting him know that she was in no way actually annoyed. 

Fitz sighed, linking his fingers together over her lower back. “Okay, never been to a strip club.”

“So porn then.” 

His cheeks flushed brightly in the hallway’s fluorescents. “Yeah... but, but not much, and you’re _so_ much better for –” He halted himself again, somehow managing to turn even more pink, and she covered her mouth to halt the giggles threatening to escape.

“For what, exactly?” She knew what he meant, but he was starting to get genuinely uncomfortable and she found it completely adorable.

“Jemma,” he whined, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “Please tell me how to get myself out of this conversation.”

“Go back to complimenting me,” she teased, ruffling her fingers through his curls and bringing his face back up to hers. 

“You’re gorgeous,” he said, punctuating each descriptor with a kiss, “and brilliant, and sexy, and everything I’ve ever wanted.” 

“ _And_ I’m really excellent wank material.” Jemma burst into hysterics at the expression on his face, a cross between being crestfallen and embarrassed.

“It was only when you were sick,” he mumbled, unable to meet her eyes. She sighed over her smile, cupping his chin in both her hands and forcing him to meet her gaze.

“I know. It was my idea, remember?” 

“Um, yes, I do. Vividly.” He relaxed as he studied her face, twisting down so he could press a kiss against her palm.

Warmth spread through her chest as she looked up at Fitz, happiness zinging through her veins like caffeine or adrenaline. “You know you’re my favorite person in the whole world, right?”

Fitz’s face broke into a soft smile at that, leaning forward to nuzzle against her nose. “Yeah. I mean, I can’t believe it sometimes, but yeah, I know.”

They stood there in silence for a few moments, and Jemma raised an eyebrow. “And you...”

Panic flashed across his face. “Oh, God, course I feel the same way! Y’know I do.” He groaned, releasing her to drop his head into his hands. “It’s really not my day, is it?” 

Deciding that it was high time they move out of the public (and video-recorded) hallway, she tugged on his hand to lead him toward their adjacent bunks. “I’m just teasing, Fitz.” 

He sighed, leaning against the doorway as she keyed in her code. “I know. Again.”

Once they were both closed into her bunk, Fitz sprawled on her bed while she tidied up a bit from having rushed out the door this morning. Watching him out of the corner of her eye, she sorted through some loose papers scattered over her desk. “How’s your mission prep going?” 

Her tone came out far too casually despite her best efforts to the contrary, and he glanced over at her from where he lay. “Alright. The hardest part so far is figuring out which Koenig I’m talking to.” 

“And how are... you? Doing?” She cringed a little, but kept her gaze on him until he looked away to stare at the ceiling, hands crossed under his head. 

“Fine,” he said with a shrug, and she sighed, dropping the papers and going over to sit by him on the bed.

“Fitz...” she started, laying one hand affectionately on his stomach, but he interrupted. 

“No, really, I’m alright.” He made eye contact and nodded, clasping her hand in his. “I mean, _it_ isn’t fine, but – I can’t change it. We’ve talked about it – it’s bollocks that I can’t go, but I’ll push on anyway. And Koenig said I could request a reevaluation of my clearance for the next big mission, if I do well this time.”

She couldn’t help the noise of annoyance she released at that. “ _If_ you do well. What a load of –” 

“Jemma.”

“Yeah,” she said, stretching out more fully beside him. “Yeah, I know. Grin and bear it.”

“I _do_ want to punch Coulson sometimes when he gives me those looks during briefings –”

“Fitz!”

“I’m kidding!” He laughed at the scandalized expression on her face. “Honestly, kidding.” 

She nudged his shoulder in further reprove, and then settled back into her comfortable position, ignoring the discomfit caused by his joke. Moments like that reminded her how much he’d changed during their mission – how much they’d both changed. The old Fitz practically hero-worshipped Coulson, and the new one was far more skeptical of their superior’s decisions. Although that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, it was definitely different.

Fitz shifted so that he was lying on his side, mirroring her position by resting his head on one hand. “So, how’s your prep going? Learn anything interesting this morning?”

“Not at all. Undercover prep is so boring when there isn’t kissing involved....” Scooting forward, she smiled slyly and pressed her hand against his chest.

Instead of taking the hint, he just raised an eyebrow. “Well, you could always tell that to Skye. She might not object –”

Jemma swatted at him and groaned, dropping onto her back. “Don’t encourage her! She’s already making jokes about how if I’m going to treat her like my last undercover partner she wants me to buy her dinner first.”

Grinning, Fitz leaned up over her. “It’s not an unreasonable request, actually. Come to think of it, did you ever buy me dinner?” 

“No, but I _made_ you dinner, and lunch, a few hundred times beforehand,” she replied drily.

“Alright then, the seduction stands,” he teased, sliding one hand along the bottom edge of her blouse. 

Narrowing her eyes, Jemma opened her mouth to argue – but that muscle in her shoulder spasmed again and she winced. She’d been ignoring it all day, but, perhaps unsurprisingly, that hadn’t done anything to ameliorate the pain. “It’s nothing,” she said, heading off Fitz’s frown of concern. “I twisted something in the gym this morning, it should be fine soon.”

“D’you want me to try to work it out for you? Y’know, with a massage?”

“Oh, yes, please!” She couldn’t help the way her whole face lit up at the suggestion; if she hadn’t been distracted by any one of a dozen things earlier today, she would have brought the idea up herself. But then Fitz proceeded to flick open the buttons of her blouse, and her expression shifted into a bemused frown. “What are you doing?” 

“Taking your clothes off,” he answered, rather too matter-of-factly. He finished off the last few buttons of her blouse and shifted down to release the button on her trousers before she figured out what was really going on. 

“And so the ulterior motive is revealed,” she deadpanned, sitting up and hindering his progress. When he glanced up at her, blue eyes widening innocently, she smiled and shook her head, the unbuttoned blouse sliding off her shoulders at the movement. “Dinner closes in half an hour, Fitz, we haven’t got time.”

Grinning altogether too cheekily, he tugged his own shirt over his head before speaking. “Life’s short – eat dessert first.”

At that, she burst into giggles, completely incapable of stopping him from yanking off her trousers as she tried to catch her breath. “Oh my God, Fitz, how long have you been waiting to use that line?” 

He shrugged, tossing her jeans haphazardly towards the laundry basket. “A month or so.” 

Not quite able to stop laughing, Jemma was already shaking her head in the negative as he crawled up over her. “Honestly, I don’t want to miss dinner.” 

“To hell with dinner,” he murmured against her lips, slanting them open for a searing, desperate kiss, one hand tilting her head up so their mouths fit together just right. His tongue slicked into her mouth, warm and dexterous, his hips pressed intimately against hers, the denim scratching roughly against her skin, and suddenly all her reasons for objecting seemed wildly asinine. To her embarrassment, she whimpered when he pulled away, having half forgotten that she was trying to be well behaved and not use the mess hall out of meal hours. “I really like that sound,” he breathed over a small smile, and she smacked her hand gently against his side.

“You’re incorrigible.” 

“And proud of it.” 

Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth, she tried to decide how she could give in without actually giving in. Because after that kiss, damn him, she wanted him more than dinner, but she didn’t want to encourage his smugness any further. “You really must be desperate,” she teased, trailing her fingers along his bare skin, “if you’re willing to skip dinner.”

“If I had to choose between being with you and my favorite sandwich, it’d be you all the way.” He slid one hand underneath her back, unclasping her bra. 

She laughed, particularly because she was the only one who made him his favorite sandwich to begin with. “What about monkeys?” 

“You,” he answered without hesitation, slipping off her bra and tossing it away. 

“Your robotics?” Fitz froze above her with his mouth open, looking rather like a blue-eyed deer caught in headlights, and she grinned. “Never mind, I don’t want –”

“You.” His lips quirked up in a bashful smile. “Has to be you, Jemma.”

Her expression softened, and she brought both hands up to his jaw, sweeping her thumbs along his skin. “Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, her love for him thumping wildly through her veins. They watched each other for a few, long moments, Fitz’s expression the same one of utter adoration he’d first worn when they were undercover – one of those many hints that she should have recognized so much sooner. “Okay,” she whispered, feeling oddly shy. “I give in.” 

But when she bent her legs, spreading them apart so he could settle between them, he looked quickly down and shook his head. “Not yet – I promised you something, remember?” 

It took Jemma a solid few seconds before she worked her way back through their conversation. “The massage? Now?”

He smiled, pushing gently at her side to get her to turn over. “Yeah. Better to have you relaxed under my hands later, no?”

At the reminder of just what he could do with his hands, she bit back a whimper, her nipples tightening noticeably as his chest just barely brushed against hers. “You can’t say things like that and then make me wait, Fitz, it’s not fair.” 

“Well,” he said, leaning forward to brush his lips along her jawline, “if you want to beg....” Giving him a sharp huff, she twisted around under him as he’d indicated, and he chuckled. “Yeah, thought that might get you to move.”

Rolling her eyes, Jemma turned her head to the side as he settled himself in a sitting position over her upper thighs, his jeans and her underwear the only barrier between their skin. “You know me too well.”

“Impossible,” he quipped, brushing her hair over one shoulder and leaning down to press a chaste kiss to the back of her neck. “I love you, Jemma Simmons, and I’ll never know you well enough.” Then he set his fingers to work over the tensest muscles of her shoulders and upper back, and the sigh she released sounded suspiciously like a moan. 

“I love you, too,” she mumbled inaudibly into the pillow, feeling completely, blissfully at peace.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day 1 (Part 2)_

 

After over two hours of trying to stabilize Skye’s condition, Jemma thought that she was probably only seriously, rather than critically, injured. Once at the theoretically-safe house, Georgie and the van’s driver had helped carry Skye into a small bedroom just left of the back entrance, allowing Jemma time to spread garbage bags over the cot’s mattress to prevent blood from seeping through. Although it certainly wasn’t the best care room in which she’d ever worked, at least it was clean enough with the plastic bags. The bullet had miraculously avoided all the major arteries in Skye’s upper thigh, causing a fair amount of muscle and tissue damage but in a way that would heal well enough with proper care and enough time. The real battle now, of course, would be to prevent infection, and with only supplies from a local drugstore (and a few cartons of miscellaneous medications from dubious sources) Jemma was worried about how well she would be able to do so.

Satisfied that the morphine would allow Skye to sleep for at least a little while, Jemma finished cleaning herself off in the room’s miniscule, adjacent bathroom and then ventured into the hallway. The house had clearly been abandoned for many years before this small group of Wellers and criminal cast-offs had recently taken residence, white paint peeling off the walls both indoor and out. How they’d arranged for there to be electricity and running water in the house if they were on the run was beyond her, but the likely answer was that the Wellers had a way of convincing people to give them what they needed. In better days this would have been a lovely home, with two floors, a wraparound porch, and a large yard (both in front and back), but anything once beautiful about it had disintegrated, leaving rust, mold, and broken boards. Based on the time of day that they’d arrived they weren’t more than an hour or two from Philadelphia, although all Jemma could see out of the window were empty, untended fields stretching on into the horizon, interrupted by a periodic, lone tree. 

Wanting a breath of fresh air, Jemma propped open the back door and leaned against the frame, not wanting to get fully out of sight of the entrance to her currently-defenseless friend’s room. Far in the distance was a phone tower, dark wires reaching into low, grey clouds, and Jemma tried again to think of any way to make contact with the Playground. The house itself didn’t have functioning phones, and the first thing Georgie had done was confiscate both of their mobiles and Skye’s laptop. In theory, Jemma could run if she wanted to – there was no one guarding her – but she would never leave Skye alone like this. On top of that, she had no idea in which direction she should run. There didn’t seem to be any transportation currently at the house, since the van that had kidnapped them had left again almost immediately after. Remnants of clothes and food suggested half a dozen other inhabitants, but, for the moment, Georgie was the only other person here in addition to the two of them.

“How’s your friend?” Georgie rounded the house, pistol notched into the waistband of her jeans.

“She needs a hospital,” Jemma bit out. “I appreciate you saving us from whatever horrid thing was about to happen in Philadelphia, but I don’t understand why you can’t let us go now.”

Sighing, the other woman sat on the porch stairs and leaned against an altogether too-rickety pillar. “I’m sorry, Harker, but those’re Ethan’s rules. Y’know where we are now. And the last time he saw you, your husband killed his best friend.”

Pursing her lips, Jemma turned to stare out at the vast expanse of winter-brown along the other side of the yard. “So this is Ethan’s show, then.” From the way Georgie talked, Jemma had determined not long after her arrival that they didn’t know the truth of what happened on the day that the Married Marksmen had escaped, or that she and Fitz were the reason for her family’s abrupt fall from criminal royalty. As far as these last two Wellers were concerned, the Harker-Fitzgeralds had seen an opportunity to make money from robbing their father’s office, taken it, and escaped.

“Where’s your husband?” At their arrival at the house, Jemma had hoped that Shawn might be there; as a surgeon, he would have been deeply useful in taking care of Skye’s injury. But there had been no sign of him, and at the mention of his name now Georgie ducked her head, hiding her expression from view.

“I was gonna ask you the same thing,” she answered eventually, voice steady but rough.

A stab of worry shot through her stomach and Jemma closed her eyes, using the memory of Fitz’s smile to ward off her fear. He was fine; he had to be. Greyhound didn’t necessarily mean complete disaster, as serious as an attack or breach would be. “Since you’ve taken my phone, I have no idea. We were supposed to meet later....” Her voice trailed off as she tried to think of a good lie, and then reminded herself what had helped her survive six months undercover: selective truths. “We have a date tonight,” she added, allowing a note of genuine sadness to leech into her words.

“Had,” Georgie bit out, suddenly seeming far more distant than she had only a few moments ago. The sound of an engine faded into hearing, and Jemma suspected that the vehicle’s arrival was the reason for her abrupt change of manner. “‘Fraid you’re not gonna be able to make it.”

“What’s going on, Georgie?” Jemma stepped forward, exasperated. “What aren’t you telling me?” 

Ignoring her question, the other woman jumped down the last few stairs as a beat-up SUV and the windowless van sped onto the gravel driveway that lined the right side of the yard. Dust plumed as the vehicles came to a halt, creating a murky cloud through which Ethan burst as the drivers turned their engines off.

“That was fucked _up_ , Georgie,” he yelled across the yard to his sister. She stood stock still with her arms crossed, waiting for him to catch up to her before falling into step. 

“I think we underestimated ‘em,” she started, but Ethan talked over her. 

“SHIELD and Hydra comin’ after us in Philly is more’n we can take. Next time, _we_ choose the meetin’ place – _we_ make the rules.” He scratched one hand agitatedly through his dark hair, pausing to watch his handful of underlings unload the car. 

“Where’s Andy?” Georgie eyed the people bustling around the car, and Jemma was struck by the similarity of their features now that Georgie was so thin and gaunt, and wasn’t wearing her figure-flattering bartender garb. 

“Crumbled,” he muttered, and Georgie flinched as if she knew exactly what he meant. “When we were runnin’, the case came open –”

“Fuck, Ethan.” Georgie scrubbed one hand over her face. “What the fuck do we do?”

When he turned to her, his face bore an expression of cold exhaustion. “Hide out and try again. We gotta be better about just telling those Nazi bastards this time. Can’t do this with SHIELD riding our asses, and they don’t pay shit.” At that, he noticed Jemma watching their conversation from the back door and made a beeline for her, unlatching the pistol from his shoulder holster as he reached the porch landing. “Harker. You wanna tell me what the fuck you were doing in Philadelphia?”

Inhaling, Jemma shook her shoulders slightly, trying to let muscle memory carry her more fully into the undercover persona she’d so happily abandoned almost a year ago. “I think it isn’t any of your bloody business.”

Ethan raised his pistol and cocked the hammer. “Yeah, I think it is.”

Giving a derisive snort, she rolled her eyes. “I’d forgotten what a wanker you are. You usually got lost in Nathan’s shadow.” 

When Ethan took another menacing step forward, Georgie jogged expeditiously up the back stairs, holding her arms out between them as she broke even. “Hey now, let’s all just take a breather. No need for theatrics,” she said a little uneasily, giving her brother a glare at the last comment. “Tellin’ us what you’re doin’ is only fair, Harker, since we saved you from SHIELD and all.”

Stalling for time, Jemma gave herself a moment to think as she waited for Ethan to lower his pistol, although she noted that he didn’t release the hammer. “We’re running a long con, and that’s all I can tell you.” 

“Sounds familiar,” Georgie said drily, and Jemma glanced her way. It was hard to believe that someone for whom misconduct was a way of life could be resentful of a little betrayal, and yet that seemed to be the case.

Ethan narrowed his eyes. “Who’s your friend?”

“One of the best computer hackers in the world,” Jemma answered smoothly, thanking everything that was holy that she could tell him something true.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” he scoffed, finally slipping his gun back into its holster. 

“Give us back her laptop and she can show you.” Jemma smiled wanly, knowing that he would do no such thing. 

Before he could return another pointed dig, someone called out for them to clear the door. One of the beefier goons (who, Jemma realized with a start, had worked for the Wellers back in Atlanta) was approaching the porch with a large, aluminum case in hand. Both Ethan and Georgie backed away from the door as if he was diseased. Jemma stepped into the hallway so that she could stand in front of Skye’s door as she watched the man with the metal case go by. Although she had no idea what was in it, she suspected that it was no coincidence that SHIELD had been in Philadelphia the same day as the Wellers. 

Ethan and Georgie had disappeared from the porch by the time Jemma poked her head out the back door, so she retreated into Skye’s room and locked the door behind her. Effectively alone again, the stress of the day began to close in on her and Jemma hitched out a small sob. Making sure that the curtains were closed, she sat next to the cot and bent her knees up to her chest, pulling Skye’s limp hand into her own for some menial amount of comfort. With one of her best friend’s lives now potentially hanging in the balance, Jemma felt particularly callous for only being able to think that she truly hated being undercover without Fitz. (If she could even call it that – she hadn’t chosen to be here, this time.) Nothing was the same without him, and she felt small, terrified, and horribly unsure of what was going to happen next.

 

\------

 

_Mission: Eighth Day_

 

“I cannot _remember_ the last time you made these, Jemma.” Fitz lay back against the windshield of the Aston-Martin, basking in the sun with his eyes closed and one hand lying over his evidently stuffed stomach. “I wish we’d taken enough for you to make more.” 

Folding the wrapper over the last third of her sandwich, Jemma just shook her head. “Only if you want to throw up all over our next robbery.” 

He turned to her, shielding his eyes from the bright sunlight. “Are we doing another one today?” 

She shrugged, letting the leftovers of her lunch drop back into their stolen cooler chest, and curled her legs up to the side of the hood so that she didn’t scrape the paint. Fitz hadn’t wanted to picnic on the ground without a blanket – to be fair to him, the fauna in this part of the country could be rather prickly – but he was also very protective of the car. It wasn’t until she pointed out that Betsy’s paint was liable to get scratched eventually during one of their getaways (and that a somewhat less-pristine car would better suit their covers) that he relented, and they’d both clambered onto the car’s hood to eat their lunch. 

“Well, I don’t think ripping off a grocery store will give us much of a reputation with the local criminal element, Fitz,” she answered, brushing a few wayward crumbs off her jeans. “Even if it was a rather posh one. We haven’t made headlines in four days.” 

Fitz hummed thoughtfully, tilting his head up to the sky. The nearby tree didn’t offer them quite enough shelter from the sunlight, but fortunately the midwinter sun didn’t pose a danger to their skin in the way it would were this summertime. Their first robbery of the day had been ludicrously simple, so much so that they’d even had time to grab the ingredients (and cookware) necessary for Jemma to make Fitz’s favorite sandwich. She’d noted down everything they’d used, of course, and would include it in their next intel drop so that Coulson could mysteriously reimburse the company. (Skye would inevitably tease her about it via their hacked secure channel, but Jemma wouldn’t be deterred from making up their job-required wrongdoing. And Fitz agreed with her, which was really all that mattered.)

The ancient radio played tinnily through the windows, a local pop station giving the deserted field a chipper beat. Turning her face up to let the sun warm her skin, Jemma smiled, feeling extraordinarily peaceful considering the fact that they’d been living as outlaws for the past week. But the stuffy air in the Playground had been gnawing at her even before they started mission prep, the dangers of Hydra’s ever-present threat meaning that venturing outside the base had been nearly impossible for months. Compared to their life before the Playground, when they lived on the Bus and flew from one continent to another at the drop of a hat, everything about their lives at the Playground had just felt suffocating. Fitz had seemed generally content to be there and working, and she adored her best friend for that outlook, but Jemma had joined SHIELD to answer all her scientific questions and learn as much as she could about the world – and she couldn’t do that fully when she was cooped up in a top secret base. 

In fact, she was so wrapped up in enjoying their newfound freedom (and the adrenaline highs from escaping one police chase after another) that she didn’t even miss her work too much. (Yet, anyway. She’d found herself mulling over how to adjust the chemical properties of her pithily-named “healing gel” the day before, and tried to resign herself to the fact that she didn’t know when she’d be able to work on it again.)

A crinkling to her right drew her attention, and she snorted in a quiet laugh at the sight of Fitz biting a piece of chocolate in half.

“You really are a bottomless pit,” she teased, plucking the other half of the chocolate out of his hand.

“Hey,” he pouted, sitting up to swat ineffectually at her knee. “I was eating that!”

Jemma grinned and fended off another half-hearted attack. “Yes, but too slowly.” As she popped the chocolate into her mouth, she let out a small snort at the sight of chocolate at the corner of his lips. Tsking, she licked her thumb and moved to rub the chocolate off, at which Fitz flinched and batted her away.

“What the hell?” 

Rolling her eyes, Jemma moved back in, trying to use his collar to keep him in place. “You’re a slob, just sit still –”

“C’mon, Jemma –” He scrambled away from her, sliding clumsily off the side of the hood and managing to stay upright.

“Come back here –” 

Fitz gave her a mischievous grin at that, using his shirtsleeve to get rid of the offending chocolate himself. “You’ll have to catch me first!” 

Hopping gracelessly off the car herself, Jemma ran hell-for-leather after him. The absence of the chocolate didn’t matter anymore – it was the principle of the thing. No self-respecting best friend would let the other get away with something like that. They both circled the car, laughing uncontrollably, until Fitz tripped on a tree root and stumbled, giving Jemma the opportunity to catch up. 

She threw her arms around his waist from behind, clasping her fingers together so he couldn’t pry them apart. “I win!”

Fitz huffed, trying half-heartedly to shake her off. “Alright, fine.”

“Say it Fitz!” After making the vain attempt to rest her chin on his shoulder, she settled for scooching around his side so she could grin cheekily up at him.

Glancing down, he did a rather poor job at hiding a smile as he grumbled: “You win.”

Jemma released his arms to clap and hop in front of him, but before she could really gloat the song to which the radio had just switched caught her attention. “Oh,” she breathed, “I _love_ this song!” Without much thought other than that she didn’t want to be dancing alone, she turned back to Fitz and grabbed his hands, moving their arms back-and-forth almost in time with the pop beat. “C’mon!”

He groaned, dropping his head back and letting her move his limp arms around. “Jemma, I don’t like dancing, you _know_ I don’t –”

“Oh, Fitz!” Jemma yanked on his hands and brought him within a step of her. “Just – shut up and dance, okay?” She started bouncing on the balls of her feet, humming along with the lyrics that she didn’t know, and kept eye contact with him. It wasn’t particularly like her to be this peppy, she knew, but the weather was gorgeous, she’d just had lunch with her best friend, and she felt truly free for the first time in years. 

Fitz watched her, warily at first, but it didn’t take long for his resolve to weaken, and she grinned as he started actively moving his arms along with her, rather than just letting himself be led. Soon they were bouncing giddily and ungracefully around each other, sometimes to the beat and sometimes to whatever rhythm they felt like. At one point, Fitz grabbed onto Jemma’s waist ostensibly to spin her around, but he happened to brush against a ticklish spot and she shrieked, twisting away with a breathless laugh.

When she glanced back up, a worrisomely mischievous look had taken over his face, and seconds later he wrapped one arm around her waist and started truly tickling her. Jemma was laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, trying weakly to swat him away and unable to get in enough air to tell him to stop. Desperate for any kind of respite, she fisted her hands in his shirt and pulled him down to press her lips against his. It wasn’t the best of their practice kisses because she was still giggling helplessly in the aftermath of his assault, but Fitz stopped moving instantly, finally allowing her some well-needed peace.

Once she wasn’t laughing into his mouth anymore, she pressed back in for a quick, pointed kiss and then stepped free of him, grinning as she adjusted her clothes. “Well, now I know how to stop you from being a twit,” she teased, smile faltering slightly at the inscrutable expression on his face. “What?”

Fitz blinked, as if he was only just rejoining the conversation, and then ducked his head. “No, nothing – just wasn’t – y’know, we’re in the middle of nowhere....” 

Jemma raised an eyebrow and leaned back against the car, folding her arms. “Think twice before tickling me next time, then. Maybe I should’ve practiced some of my combat moves on you instead.” 

His lips quirked up in a half smile. “You’d have to catch me first,” he repeated drily. 

They both laughed and she relaxed fully against Betsy, tilting her head up towards the sunlight and closing her eyes. “This has been _so_ nice, Fitz,” she sighed. “It’s almost like when were at the Academy. Just you and me.” 

She heard his feet shuffle in the grass. “Yeah. At the Academy.” His tone was off, though, so she opened her eyes again to study the look on his face. He’d been watching her but turned away as their gazes met briefly. “And it’s ‘you and I.’”

Jemma groaned, pushing away from the car to land a quick slap on his shoulder. “You’re such a pain.” 

“You wouldn’t know how to deal with me if I wasn’t,” he teased back, reaching around her to start packing up the detritus from their picnic.

Checking his hip, she grinned and turned to help him clean up. It was probably time for them to return to their undercover personas now, even if she wanted to spend just a little longer laughing with her best friend in a sunlit field.


	3. Light 'Em Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, this chapter's pretty short (just how the structure/story beats worked out), as is the next one, but... a lot happens in a small amount of page space. :-)

_Kidnapping: Day 3_

 

Jemma flipped impatiently through the local newspaper, knowing that she wasn’t going to find any information this way but desperate to try. Having decided that working on an escape plan was irrelevant until Skye was well enough to travel, Jemma had spent all day sitting by her mostly-sleeping friend’s side and worrying herself silly. Without phones or Skye’s laptop with which to contact to the outside world, they were stuck – and the longer she sat in silence without adequate mental stimulation or distraction, the more time she had to worry about the “Greyhound” call that had been sent out right before their abduction. 

The national news channels hadn’t picked up anything about a SHIELD and Hydra confrontation, which was a relief, but that somehow made Jemma more nervous. If it hadn’t been a full-out attack, what had gone so wrong so quickly? And where was Fitz, who had been one of the few people left at the Playground during this big away mission? The thought of him made her stomach turn over in knots, certain that he was probably frantic without knowing what had happened to her.

She’d noticed, though, subtle ways that she’d been subconsciously adjusting for Fitz’s absence as she played her undercover role for the first in a very long time. It was ridiculous, because she’d only been gone for three days and she’d been kidnapped, not run off on a vacation. But she felt it inside herself, as if the distance between them was immeasurable, the little moments when she shifted to fill his role. Oddly, it felt almost like a betrayal, as if the protagonists of those silly romance novels Skye so loved to read (out loud, usually, despite everyone’s loud if begrudgingly amused protests) were turning over their fictional graves at her independence. Fitz, Jemma suspected, wouldn’t be the least bit surprised by her ability to survive without him, but then again she was fairly sure that he didn’t think of himself as the kind of hero worth pining for. She was torn between aching for missing him (aside from her completely legitimate concern about Greyhound) and being proud of her ability to handle this on her own. So far, anyway.

“Hey, Jems.” Skye’s voice was groggy from the painkillers, and she moved sluggishly as she tried to sit up in bed, needing Jemma’s help to settle herself against the roughly hewn headboard.

“Easy does it,” Jemma murmured, flipping off the blanket to do a quick assessment of the current bandages. The supplies Georgie had made someone fetch from a local store weren’t high-grade, but they were certainly better than rags, and for the moment they seemed to be holding off infection. Tucking Skye back in, Jemma gave her a small smile. “How are you feeling?” She’d woken up briefly the night before, for just long enough that Jemma could tell her what was going on, but she’d been knocked out for most of the time since they’d arrived. Considering the severity of the wound and the amateurish job she’d had to make of sewing it up, this was probably for the best.

“Like I was hit by a truck,” Skye deadpanned, but she returned Jemma’s smile without more than a brief wince. 

“I’m afraid some of that may be a medication hangover. Try not to move too much.” 

“Damn, no morning jog?” 

Jemma rolled her eyes and stood, stretching her arms above her head. “Do you think you can eat something?”

Skye cringed, resting one hand over her stomach. “Not right now. I’m hungry, but... I think I’d just upchuck anything I swallowed.”

Nodding, Jemma poured and handed her a glass of water. “Small sips. We can think about food again in an hour.”

“How’re _you_ doing?”

“I’m not the one who was shot,” Jemma replied rather too sharply, and then sighed. “Honestly? Not knowing about Greyhound is driving me mad.”

Skye frowned, tracing the edge of her glass, but before she could respond the door crashed open. Accompanied by the same thuggish underling who had carried the case (named Kane, Jemma had remembered belatedly), Ethan strode in, glaring briefly at his compatriot. “Do we need to talk about strength control again?” Kane shrugged, and Ethan just sighed before turning back to Jemma. “Heard you talkin’, thought now might be a good time t’introduce myself.”

“You mean test her,” Jemma shot back, thoroughly fed up with the way he’d been treating her. When she and Fitz had been undercover together, Ethan had generally ignored her, behaving like most of the other men in the Wellers’ circle. He’d been better than Nathan, whose detestation of both her and Fitz had been unceasing to the last, but now that Jemma was by herself he didn’t trust her at all. At least Georgie’s distrust was measured; Jemma suspected that he didn’t believe her solely because she was a woman. “I told him that you’re a hacker –”

Picking up on Jemma’s rushed hint, Skye quickly interrupted with: “Hacktivist.”

Ethan looked from one woman to the other, folding his arms and sticking a partially-chewed toothpick back in his mouth. “Like those Rising Tide folks.” 

Giving him a derisive snort, Skye leaned back in the bed and then winced as the movement pulled at her injury. “I _am_ ‘those Rising Tide folks.’” 

He squinted at her. “I may sound like a redneck, sweetheart, but believe me when I say that I ain’t stupid. The Rising Tide’s more’n one skinny girl with a computer.” A small part of Jemma wanted to turn and smirk at Fitz, who would appreciate that their friend had just been provoked, but lacking her usual partner-in-crime she just pursed her lips. 

Upper lip curling into a tight smile, Skye raised an eyebrow. “That’s the nice thing about computers – one skinny girl’s all you need. And, yeah, there’re a lot of us, but I’m pretty well known. If you know who to ask. I could prove it to you if I had my laptop.” Holding her hands out to indicate her empty lap, she shrugged. “But I guess you’ll just have to take my word for it.”

“Gimme your name and I’ll check you out myself.”

Jemma crossed her arms, jaw set tight. She’d told Ethan all of this, of course, not that he’d listened to or believed her. 

For her part, Skye just gave him a confident smirk. “Skye. Kinda hard name to check up on – and kinda why I chose it. Plus, it’s pithy.” Ethan gave her a blank look, and Skye sighed dramatically, glancing over at Jemma. “Jems, can you think of a synonym for pithy? Maybe with one syllable –”

“I know what pithy means,” Ethan snapped, and Jemma bit her cheek to keep from smiling. It was perhaps not wise of Skye to needle their captor, but it was funny as hell to watch Ethan’s sallow skin flush in the afternoon sunlight. “What’s a hacker doin’ with two dime-store robbers?”

“Like hell I’d tell you,” Skye shot back, somehow seeming relaxed despite the tension in the air. “We helped each other a while back, and now we’ve got something running – or did until a bunch of paranoid hicks dragged us into the middle of fucking nowhere.”

“You watch your mouth, girl,” Ethan gritted out, stepping forward. “I’ve been nice to Harker ‘cause of my sister, but I don’t know you and I don’t give a shit what happens to you. Maybe I’ll use you to demonstrate the box at the next meetin’.”

“What box? Meeting with whom?” Jemma sat forward, briefly hoping that maybe she’d finally get some of the answers she’d been seeking for days, but Ethan ignored her.

“We’ll check you out, see if we wanna keep you around.” He glanced back at Jemma, who was clenching her fists so tightly that her nails were digging painful half-moons into her palms. “When we set up the meetin’ we’re probably gonna want you there. You’re pretty, ‘n maybe that’ll keep ‘em from bailing this time.”

“I’m not doing anything for you until you bring me in!” Jemma’s voice was almost a shout now, but she was sick of it – sick of being trapped in a strange house, sick of being kept in the dark, sick of missing Fitz, and sick of being terrified that if she went nosing around alone they would hurt Skye. 

“You’ll be brought in when I’m ready to trust you,” he returned, voice going quiet in anger much as his father’s used to do. “And considerin’ that Nate ain’t around to weigh in, I don’t see that happening real soon.”

Without further preamble, he stomped out of the room, Kane following closely behind him. As the door swung shut, Jemma shot off the bed, hands up as if she was going to follow them and insist on being told the truth – but she had to keep their uncertain situation in mind, and antagonizing Ethan wasn’t a sensible plan. Instead she just made a loud noise of impotent anger and turned to slap one palm against the wall, leaning against it and rubbing her eyes with her other hand. Somehow, despite everything that could have gone wrong back then, the last time she was Jemma Harker this had all seemed much simpler. Not easier, because there was still much about her undercover persona that didn’t come naturally to her at all – but certainly simpler.

“You did well, Skye,” Jemma sighed eventually, straightening and turning back around. A sharp stab of alarm shot through her at the sight of her friend slumped back against the wall, and she hurried over to the cot. “Skye?!”

“‘M okay,” Skye muttered, eyes opening to stare groggily up at Jemma. “Just got a lil woozy there. An’ my leg hurts. Bad.” Her words were slightly slurred and her limbs slow to move as Jemma yanked back the sheets to inspect her thigh. Moving around as she had to put on a show of bravado for Ethan must have broken the stitches or caused the thin scab to burst, because now the bandage was seeping blood onto the plastic bag below.

Jemma grabbed the morphine pill sheet from the wooden chair she’d been using as a table and turned it over so that this morning’s leftover half-pill dropped into her palm. Not knowing how long they were going to be out here – or exactly how much medication the Wellers had in this isolated house – Jemma had been trying to ration the morphine as much as she dared.

“Slow sips,” she said, pressing a glass of water into Skye’s hand and the pill into her other. Once her friend had done as instructed, Jemma removed the glass and began to undo the bandage wrappings, uneasily noting how Skye’s eyes shut tight and lips pursed together. If she were on her own, Jemma might be more willing to play Ethan’s game a little longer, perhaps nose around for further intel about their illegal activities – but Skye needed proper medical attention and facilities, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to get them out here.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jemma murmured, the fresh blood warming her fingers as she unwrapped the bandages. “I’m going to fix this, Skye. I promise.”

 

\------

 

_Mission: Forty-Third Day_

 

Getting carried away by their undercover personas was becoming far too easy for Jemma, but she only ever noticed this when it was nearly impossible for her to care. Right now, Fitz was pressing her against a back wall in Georgie’s bar, working his tongue and teeth over her neck and making her almost forget why they were doing this. The crowd within which they’d been socializing had been pushing them to drink more than either of them felt comfortable doing while “on the job,” so she’d tugged him back against her, knowing that the others would quickly lose interest. But he was so good at this that, fifteen minutes later, she had no intention of making him stop. The part of her that was still hyper-aware that this was fake and he was her best friend rationalized that having so much physical chemistry with someone you’ve known for almost a decade wasn’t actually that surprising. Neither of them was attached back in the “real world,” so there was no reason for her to feel guilty about enjoying herself. None at all. 

The room was dark, a haze of stale cigarette smoke hovering between amber light fixtures and vintage lamps, and the music beat steadily through bass-heavy wall speakers. Fitz drew her earlobe between his lips and pulled lightly, eliciting a surprised whimper from Jemma’s throat. Curling her arms around his head, she encouraged him to press in closer as he returned his lips to hers. She froze, however, at the feeling of what was definitely his erection against her hip. It was gone in a moment as he shifted himself slightly away from her, but there was no mistaking that for what it was – they were making out like teenagers at a dance, and Fitz was hard because of it. Because of _her_.

Jemma gasped into his mouth and he hummed, clearly not realizing the reason for her noise, sliding his tongue over her own and distracting her briefly from the confusion she felt. He was her best friend – objectively, knowing he was _that_ turned on should make her uncomfortable, although the biologist in her knew that men were particularly susceptible to physical stimuli and even she had mused only seconds earlier that there was undeniable chemistry spinning out between them. But neither of those things had been her first instinct: Her body had automatically wanted to push back against him, to wrap her legs around his waist, or to find some way of relieving the arousal mirrored in her own body, in the dull ache between her thighs. The only reason she could come up with for her reaction was that it had been a very long time since she’d attended to that particular need of her own. (Especially since she and Fitz were sharing a room.) She might have to allot herself some alone time in their motel during the next couple of days.

Tilting her head to improve the angle, Jemma refocused on kissing Fitz – or did briefly, until she started wondering what exactly she’d done to elicit that response from him. Unfortunately, that was the kind of question that she’d have to ask him outright, and she really, _really_ didn’t want to have that conversation.

 

\------

 

 _Kidnapping: Day Five_ _(Part 2)_

 

“I said, where the fuck is my wife?” 

Fitz stared unblinkingly at Ethan, who was too busy being dumbfounded to give him an answer. When nothing was forthcoming, Fitz cocked the hammer of his pistol, getting ready to take aim, and that was finally what forced Jemma into motion. Ignoring the shock of seeing _Ward_ in this godforsaken place, and apparently working with Fitz, Jemma managed to set herself in motion just as Georgie started to look around for her.

“Fitz!” Jemma scrambled out from behind the couch and hurled herself against him, arms wrapping around his torso as his curled instinctively around her shoulders. 

“Oh, thank _God_ ,” he murmured into her hair, and she could feel his breath against her neck, warm and unsteady. They only stayed that way for a moment, though, as he pulled back and cupped her cheek with one hand. “I’ve never been so worried, Jem.”

Her eyebrows raised at his use of her undercover pet name, and she reminded herself that they’d have to wait until later for a proper reunion (and explanations). “You know me,” she whispered hoarsely, not entirely able to keep her voice from wavering. “Always running off.” 

A slight shine was visible over the deep blue of Fitz’s eyes, and she knew that he was just as relieved to see her alive as she was to see him. But, as ever, now wasn’t the time.

“Where is she?” Ward’s voice was more gravelly than Jemma remembered, having lost the smoothness of his agent persona, but his tone was as steely as ever. It didn’t surprise her that Ward was here for Skye, although she appreciated that he hadn’t used her name without knowing the details of their situation.

“Down the hall,” Jemma answered, “but she’s asleep. Please don’t wake her, she’s injured and I don’t know how much medication we have left.” 

Clenching his jaw, Ward nodded. “I’m gonna clear the rest of the house. You’ve –”

“I’ve got the room,” Fitz interrupted, one hand tightening around Jemma’s waist as he lifted the pistol in his other. “Go on.”

Once in the hallway, Ward’s steps quieted until they were almost inaudible, his position only given periodically away by the swish of him turning quickly into a doorway. 

“Babe,” Fitz said in a low voice, not taking his eyes off the two Wellers but leaning in so it would be difficult for them to hear him. “I’ve got a piece for you in the back of my jeans, but wait for my signal, alright?” Jemma nodded her understanding, reaching her left hand under his jacket for the handle. It was a good thing he’d warned her, though, because she was only just able to hide her surprise at the wider polymer grip she felt beneath her fingers – it wasn’t an automatic, but an ICER.

Shots and then two thumps echoed from the floor above them, drawing the attention of everyone in the room but Fitz. “Now, Jem.” Without pause, she pulled the ICER from his jeans and shot both Ethan and Georgie in the chest, watching as dust puffed into the air at their collapse. 

“All clear,” called Ward’s voice from above, and Fitz visibly relaxed, giving Jemma a tight smile. 

“Well, that went off without a hitch.” Torn between joy at seeing Fitz and confusion at seeing Ward, Jemma just stared blankly back until Fitz spoke again, tucking the real pistol into his jeans. “We’ve knocked everyone out so we can escape – should have twenty minutes before anyone’s up.” His brow furrowed, hands automatically gravitating to his hips. “Skye’s injured?” 

Sighing, she nodded. “She was shot when they took us –”

“Bad habit of hers, that,” he said, giving her a weak smile, and Jemma reached out to take his hand.

“That’s exactly what she said.” They both chuckled, but the sound was hollow and desperate rather than truly happy. “It didn’t intersect any major arteries and she’s doing much better, but I don’t know how long I can keep infection at bay. She needs proper treatment.” 

Nodding, Fitz looked around as Ward strode back in. “We’re going to get her out of here. Can you carry Skye to the car by yourself?” 

“Yup,” Ward answered, snapping a new round of pellets into his disguised ICER. 

Jemma felt her pulse pick up as she watched Fitz behave so normally around the man who’d tried to kill them, and had successfully killed many others. “I’m sorry,” she blurted out, eyes flickering between the two of them, “I can’t do anything else until you explain –”

“How the fuck I’m here?” Ward gave her a thin smile, quickly unsnapping his Kevlar and pulling down the collar of his black shirt. A small plastic disc appeared to have been grafted onto the skin right over his heart, a red indicator light blinking at its center. “I’ve got a leash.” 

Jemma turned wide eyes on Fitz. “Coulson approved that?!” 

Sighing, Fitz scratched a hand through his hair. “Not exactly.”

Cold ran through her chest, and the image she’d been worrying about for days emerged unbidden from her memory – Fitz, frantic and ignoring orders as he tried to figure out what had happened to her and Skye. “Fitz,” she whispered, maintaining eye contact and trying to keep her voice even, “what do you mean by ‘not exactly’?”

“Coulson wouldn’t approve of a tact team until they had more intel on the situation out here, but Fitz didn’t want to wait,” Ward filled in, calmly redoing the fasteners on his Kevlar. “So he figured out where they were keeping me and used Skye to get me to agree to the leash. Hey,” he said, clocking the dark look Fitz threw his way. “No hard feelings, it worked. I’m here to get her out, you’re here for Simmons – sort of like a rescue double date.” 

“You’re disgusting,” Jemma spat out, chills running up her spine as she listened to him talk about her friend. 

“Jemma,” Fitz started, but she held up a hand to silence him.

“Honestly, I’m horrified, but we don’t have time for this now.”

“So let’s get moving.” Ward stepped back towards the door, but Jemma shook her head.

“Just a minute – Fitz, the oh-eight-four we were supposed to intercept in Philadelphia? I’m fairly certain it’s here.” 

“What?” Fitz’s eyes followed her as she started searching the room; the last time she’d seen the aluminum case it had been in here, near Ethan but not close enough to be a danger to him. 

“I believe that they were going to sell it to someone from Hydra when they saw SHIELD and got scared –” She ducked her head to peer into a low, oak cabinet. “They didn’t tell me anything, mind you, this is only what I’ve overheard. And then Georgie saw me and thought I was in danger from being nabbed by the men in the black suits, so here we are. They’ve been trying to reconnect with their contact in Hydra for days, but something’s gone wrong – I’m not sure what – ah ha!” The case glinted at her from inside what used to be a liquor cabinet, and she pulled it gingerly towards her. “Stay back,” she ordered, placing the case on the rickety coffee table. “And whatever’s inside, don’t touch it." 

“Why?” Ward had inched away from the door and back towards the center of the room, folding his well-muscled arms as he eyed the case.

Jemma slid her gaze back to Fitz. “All they’ll say is that people who touch it ‘crumble.’”

“That doesn’t sound like a good thing,” Fitz muttered, staring down at where her hands shook as she undid the closures.

“Not especially, no.” Drawing in a deep breath, Jemma gingerly lifted the aluminum lid, trying to touch it with as little of her skin as possible. Inside the case was dark foam, and inside the foam lining lay a shimmering, silver obelisk. 

The three of them stared down at the way light shivered around the object, ripples breaking its seamless surface.

“Alien?” Fitz stepped forward, peering over Jemma’s shoulder, and she exhaled into a nod. 

“I’d say so, but there’s no way to tell without –” 

“Further testing, and protective equipment. Back at the lab we have –” 

“The right supplies, but I wouldn’t want to risk it out here.” His hand pressed against her lower back and she sighed, a dim part of her very relieved to yet again be by Fitz’s side. 

“So close it up and let’s go,” Ward said, glancing at his watch. Jemma wondered briefly how Fitz had managed to get him all of that gear without anyone noticing, but pushed that thought aside for the moment. She closed up the case, preparing to stand with it when Fitz turned to face her. 

“Hold on – the mission in Philadelphia was to capture the Hydra ops as well as the 084, right?” 

“Fitz,” Jemma snapped, glancing pointedly at Ward, who was certainly not cleared to be a part of that conversation.

“Oh, he’s involved now, Jemma,” Fitz said, waving away her concern, “and that isn’t something he wouldn’t’ve been able to guess anyway. What I mean is – don’t we sort of have a unique opportunity here? To get at Hydra while our covers are still intact?” 

Jemma gave him an incredulous look. “Hydra knows who we are, Quinn –”

“I mean with the Wellers. We only need to stay the Harker-Fitzgeralds until we can get to the exchange – if we can coordinate with the Playground, we can call for back up and have everyone taken in. It might be our best shot at capturing someone high up in Hydra, or at the very least people with current intel.” 

A million ways this could go wrong swam through Jemma’s head, but – her worries aside – she knew that he had a point. They may not be field agents, per se, but one thing that she had learned from Coulson since joining his team was that you should always take any opportunity to get intel. And this one had been unintentionally giftwrapped and dropped at their feet.

“Shite,” she muttered, sinking onto the mite-ridden couch.

“Yeah.” Fitz reached over to squeeze her shoulder. “You ready to go back undercover?”


	4. Living in the Heat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small note that the first part was written a rather long time before 2x15 aired. :-)

_Mission: Sixteen Days After_

 

The lab’s supply closet was stuffy, with the ventilation system not quite working properly and the door shut behind her, but Jemma was fairly certain that her breathing difficulties had nothing to do with that. Fitz was practically molded to her side as she leaned against the wall, his hand tucked into her unzipped trousers and lips trailing heatedly over her neck. She whimpered as he slid one finger up into her and crooked it just right, so that he rubbed against her G-spot, and a sharp tremor rolled through her body. Clearly pleased with himself, he hummed and pulled one earlobe between his teeth, sliding his other hand around under her lab coat and snugging himself closer. The idea of turning to capture his lips with hers flitted through her head but was almost immediately forgotten as his thumb began to circle her clit, slowly, tantalizingly, causing her brows to knot in pleasure and toes to curl (as well as they could in her boot, propped up on a low shelf). 

Apparently, Fitz was still getting used to being _together_ now that they were back at their normal jobs, because he’d been completely useless from the second he’d laid eyes on her in her lab coat this morning. By the time he’d dropped a second tool, drawing everyone’s eyes to him as it clattered against the metal flooring, Jemma had figured out what had him so distracted, much to her amusement. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen her in a lab coat before, for God’s sake, but that hadn’t stopped him from staring at her every chance he’d gotten. Eventually, she’d taken him aside as everyone else left for lunch and pointed out that if he liked what she was wearing, he was allowed to do something about it now. That was all it had taken to spur him into action, his Adam’s apple bobbing as their last coworker left the lab. With one furtive look over his shoulder, he’d tugged her into the supply closet and set to work on slowly winding her up until she was absolute putty in his hands, moaning and shivering under his attention. 

The pad of his finger pressed against that perfect spot within her at the same time that his thumb swept directly over her clit, now hypersensitive from arousal and his strokes, and she released another moan, ending on his name. “ _Fiiiiitz_. I mean – Leo,” she corrected herself, and then let out a brief, hitched noise of annoyance as his lips fumbled against her neck. “Shite, I’m sorry, I meant Leo.”

His mouth curved into a smile against her skin, and he shushed her. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t think about that now,” he murmured, speeding up his thumb and making her vision blur out.

“Oh God,” she groaned, her hips bucking forward to chase his movement. “ _Please_ , Fitz, just there – _shite_ ,” she swore again, letting her eyes open as she dropped her head against the wall. “ _Leo_ , I swear I meant to –”

“Shhhhhhh,” he hushed again, but she shook her head, using the hand that had been clutching his arm to raise his face to hers.

“It’s not working, Fitz,” she sighed, pressing her lips together in a line.

He just raised an eyebrow and stroked firmly over her G-spot again, causing her to gasp and to clench around his finger. “Seems to be working pretty well.” 

“No, not – _ugh_ ,” she exhaled, torn between removing his hand from her trousers so she could focus and desperately wanting him to finish her off, right here in the supply closet. “Not _that_. Your name.” Settling for at least halting his ministrations, she slid her own hand down her trousers over his, not letting him pull away but also not letting him continue either. His indignant huff feathered the ends of her hair but he stopped nonetheless, deep blue eyes focusing on her even in the low lighting. “Calling you by your first name. I don’t think I can do it.” In all honesty, she’d been debating how to bring this up for days, having tried using the name both at work and in bed without much consistency or success. 

An amused sort of disappointment hovered around his expression, and he shrugged. “Alright.” 

“I mean, I know you want me to,” she continued, rambling breathlessly, “and I love that you call me Jemma, I do, but I just feel like I’m still undercover or something when I say it. As if it’s not real. I fell for _Fitz_ , my best friend, not ‘Leo.’”

“It’s not that I _want_ you to, Jemma,” he said, frowning a little. “I just – I thought that’s sorta what couples do, y’know? Use first names. And it’s kinda hot when you do, to be honest, but I don’t really care. You can call me anything you want to –” 

She grinned as soon as the words left his mouth, panic flashing instantly across his face, and interrupted before he could backtrack. “Oh, now _that’s_ an offer –”

“Almost, _almost_ anything you want to –”

“Nope,” she taunted, settling herself more comfortably against the wall and scratching her fingers through his hair. Now rather distracted from what they’d been doing, she removed their hands from her trousers, for the moment more intent on teasing her boyfriend than on getting off. “Too late, the offer’s out.”

Fitz groaned into a small laugh. “Oh, God....”

“So many options,” she murmured, reaching up to brush her lips over his. “Leopold has a nice ring to it –”

“Don’t you _dare_ –” 

“Or Doctor –”

“I – alright, I could get behind that one, but you’re more of an actual doctor –”

“Oh, no, I’ve got it.” Jemma smiled widely, thoroughly enjoying the worry behind his eyes. “Monkey.” 

“No.” 

“Too late –” 

“I am _not_ letting you ruin my favorite animal –” 

“Oh,” she said in an exaggerated moan, grinning as she pressed herself against him, “ _monkey_ , don’t stop!” 

Fitz squeezed his eyes closed and whined a quiet “nooooooooo,” although it was barely audible under her giggles.

“Monkey, _ohhhhh_ , monkey!” Jemma continued to pretend-moan, only just keeping herself back from the verge of hysterical laughter at the tortured expression on his face. 

Desperate to get her to stop, he grabbed her face with both hands and captured her lips with his, sliding his tongue into her mouth and effectively halting her words. After a few moments, he angled her to the side and pushed forward, clumsily walking her backward until her arse bumped against a nearby cabinet.

“What –” Jemma interrupted herself with a small squeak as Fitz wrapped his arms around her thighs and hoisted her onto the low surface. “What are you doing?”

He ignored her question for a while, going back to working his mouth tantalizingly over hers, but answered once he needed to break away to tug her trousers and underwear fully off her legs. “There’s only one way I know how to get you to stop teasing me.”

Suppressing a snort, Jemma lifted her arse so he could make faster work of her clothes. “Fitz, I’m not sure even _you_ could manage that.”

Once he’d tossed her jeans away, he kneeled in front of her, adjusting the back of her lab coat so it wasn’t in the way. Knowing exactly how much that one piece of clothing affected him, watching the way he tugged reverently at the grey fabric, made heat shiver through her as he pulled her forward a few inches so that she rested right at the edge of the cabinet. Her feet just barely reached the drawer pulls, allowing her some amount of balance – not that she was worried, really, because she trusted him to never let her fall. Fitz met her eyes, staring up as he spread her legs apart, and Jemma tried to remember to breathe. His hands trailed agonizingly slowly down the inside of her thighs, keeping eye contact as a brief tremor of anticipation shook her legs, and when one thumb slid down to part her labia she bit back a whimper.

“We’ll see about that.”

Then he set his mouth to work, licking his tongue in long strokes up over her center, and Jemma choked on her comeback, arching involuntarily into the sensations he coaxed out of her so effortlessly. Threading one hand into his curls and leaning back on her other, she tried to resist the way her hips wanted to rock forward in concert with his tongue. Somehow, he’d only gotten better at this in the many months since their first time together, having learned the patterns and flicks of his tongue that would draw her out into a plateau of hazy, suspended pleasure.

She could almost sense the smugness rolling off of him, though, hovering just underneath his actions as he repeated certain movements or sucked firmly at that sensitive bundle of nerves until she couldn’t hold back her noises any longer. So the next time Fitz did something that made her breath catch in her throat and her vision white out, Jemma moaned one word: “ _Monkey_.”

 

\------

 

 _Kidnapping: Day Five_ _(Part 3)_

 

Ignoring the fact that she’d essentially been undercover for five days already, the idea of staying and having to sell that persona for any longer made Jemma feel faintly nauseous. She gave a short, dark laugh, standing up and hugging her arms against the poorly sealed room’s chill. “God, Fitz, we had a month to prepare last time and we were barely ready –”

“But it’s different now, we’ve used these covers before, we can do it again –”

“No, hold on, time out,” Ward interjected, stepping around the mismatched furniture to face them. “This isn’t a good idea –”

“I can’t believe I’m about to agree with a cold-blooded murderer,” Jemma muttered, rubbing two fingers against her temple. “But he’s right, Fitz. And Skye’s out of danger, but it would be better if we got her to a real medical facility to completely rule out infection.”

“The only reason this worked is because we had surprise on our side – the second they wake up, that’s gone and we’re outnumbered.” Ward’s voice was clinical, ever so slightly different to the way he’d spoken as they prepped for missions on the Bus, and it made the hair on the back of Jemma’s neck stand on end. 

She frowned, though, as a point in favor of staying occurred to her, and she exhaled. “Actually – yes, technically we’d be outnumbered, but I think we could sway Georgie to our side. Shawn is missing,” she said, glancing down at the older woman’s unconscious form before she turned to Fitz. “She wouldn’t tell me where he is –” 

“Dead?” He whispered the word, almost as if Georgie might hear them through her dendrotoxin-induced sleep.

“I don’t know. Wouldn’t she have just said it, if...?” But Jemma trailed off, realizing that were anything to ever happen to Fitz she likely wouldn’t be able to vocalize it either. Her breath shortened at the idea, and she pushed herself to move on from that paralyzing train of thought. “In any case, I don’t think she and Ethan have been getting along. Something about how they got the oh-eight-four is off – as if they didn’t want to be here at all. It’s very strange, and I think that we have a good shot at getting her to work with us again.”

“Even if she does, what about the half-dozen guys her brother has for support?” Ward glanced down at his watch. “Hold on.” 

Jemma turned to Fitz in confusion as the other man strode out of the room, and Fitz simply answered: “Lookouts.” 

Two quick ICER shots later, Ward walked back in, tucking his pistol back into its holster. “Okay, go.”

“We have a good shot at convincing them we want in on the deal, whatever Hydra’s paying for the case,” Fitz jumped in, picking up Jemma’s thought. “Especially if you can get Georgie to talk about Shawn. We could even say that we might have some information to sell to Hydra – they might believe that – and we can contact the base, see if they can find any trace of Shawn using SHIELD’s –”

“Assuming that Coulson will authorize any mission support for you, Fitz,” Jemma interrupted, “considering the fact that you’ve just gone A.W.O.L. with a high-risk prisoner.”

Fitz’s mouth dropped open at her reproof, and then glanced over to Ward. “I – yeah, well, he’ll still want to help you and Skye, anyway. And you said things aren’t quite right here, yeah?”

Jemma nodded, picking absently at the hem of her borrowed, ratty jumper. “Yes, I think if we can convince them we need the money they would be willing to use the extra support. Or at least have more people to shoulder the blame. The Wellers aren’t at the top of the food chain anymore, especially without Charlie to pull the strings.”

“Exactly,” Fitz said, “exactly. It’ll be bloody difficult, but we can do it, Jemma, I really think we can.” 

Letting out a shaky exhale, she set a critical eye upon Ward. “And what does the muscle think?”

Ward gave her a dry chuckle. “I think it’s ludicrous, and probably exactly what Coulson would do. I came here to save Skye, and helping you two’s a part of that –”

“But if push came to shove,” Jemma bit out, “you’d save her and let us die.”

He stared back at her and Fitz, evidently weighing his answer (or their reactions) carefully before speaking. “Yes.”

She laughed drily, throwing her arms out in feigned amusement. “Well, at least he’s being honest now. I suppose a year in Vault D does wonders for –” 

“Actually, I was only there for a couple months.” Ward gave them a crooked smile. “Got a cell with a fake window in exchange for good behavior – and the location of a Hydra outpost.” 

“What a bloody relief –”

“But you’ll help us,” Fitz interrupted, halting Jemma’s impending tirade. She clenched her hands into fists, wanting so strongly to take a baseball bat to their former teammate that her hands were starting to shake.

“Funny question,” Ward said, tapping his chest over the so-called dog collar. “I do what you tell me, boss-man.”

Fitz’s jaw clenched at that, and he turned back to Jemma. “Alright, Jemma, it’s up to you then. Are you in?” 

A memory from the briefing where Coulson had first announced their assignment to the Wellers popped into her head, of Fitz’s face as he looked down at her, waiting for her agreement before answering for the both of them. Back then, she hadn’t truly absorbed the enormity of the mission they were about to undertake, and she certainly hadn’t had any inkling of how fundamentally it would change their relationship. The one constant between then and now, of course, was Fitz, and how much she trusted him. She had a million questions about how he’d managed to find them today, and what on earth he’d been thinking when he’d released Ward against Coulson’s orders – but she still trusted his guidance and moral compass above that of anyone else she’d ever met or ever would meet.

So, just like that first meeting, she met Fitz’s eyes and nodded her assent. A modicum of tension seeped out of his shoulders, and he nodded. “Alright. Time to tell Skye, then, yeah?” 

“Yes, but – just a minute.” As she returned the aluminum case to its hiding place, she spotted Skye’s laptop dumped upside down on a nearby shelf and picked it up. “We don’t want them to think that _we_ want the object in the case, but if they ask we can say that we need her laptop,” she mused aloud, jumping slightly when three shots echoed through the room. 

Taking out a new round of ICER bullets, Ward noticed the way she pressed one hand to her chest. “Sorry. Time was getting short. I’ll be outta these soon, by the way,” he directed at Fitz. “If we keep going at this rate.” 

“We can let them wake up soon,” Fitz said, taking the laptop when Jemma handed it to him. 

“And it would be wise to do a quick inventory of their supplies, if we have time,” Jemma added, leaning over to swipe a real pistol that had skidded across the floor when its owner was knocked out.

“Good idea.” Fitz gave her one of his sweet, affectionate smiles as she approached, leaning down to brush his lips lightly against her cheek once she’d drawn even.

“But first, Skye.” Ward’s face was completely impassive, but his mono-focus on her friend made Jemma deeply nervous.

Squaring her shoulders, Jemma led the two men down the hallway to her and Skye’s room. Luckily (or not, depending on whose perspective one took) she was already stirring when Jemma sat on the edge of the cot, reaching over to gently squeeze her shoulder. “Skye? Skye, it’s time to wake up. I’ve got quite a lot to tell you....”

Skye blinked her eyes blearily open, her gaze moving almost instantly to where Fitz stood behind Jemma. A sleepy noise of excitement escaped her throat and she tried to sit up, limbs still clumsy under the last influence of her medicated sleep. “Fitz! What the –”

Then her eyes found Ward’s looming presence just within the doorway and she screamed, her body instinctively scrambling back against the wall to be as far away from him as possible. But her wound wasn’t healed enough for the sudden movement and her scream turned into a pained cry in seconds, Jemma’s hands reaching automatically out to take her hands. 

“I know, it’s Ward, but he’s –”

“Is this a morphine dream? Please tell me it’s a morphine dream,” Skye begged, keeping her wide, dark eyes fixed on Jemma’s face, as if not looking elsewhere would erase the horror she felt.

“I’m so sorry, Skye...” Fitz started, but he trailed off as she moved her gaze to him. 

“Fitz? You’re really here?” Skye’s fingers squeezed Jemma’s hand so hard that she thought there was the faint possibility she’d develop a bruise, but if that’s what her friend needed right now to calm down, so be it. 

“Yeah, I’m really here,” Fitz answered, keeping his voice low and measured as he stepped around Jemma so that he could crouch down by the upper half of the cot. “Came to rescue you. Always getting in trouble, you are.” He tried giving her a small smile, reaching forward to take her other hand when she didn’t protest, but she just flicked her eyes between the two of them and Ward.

“He’s here to help us, Skye. I promise, we won’t let him hurt you –” Jemma started, but Ward interrupted.

“I’d never hurt you –”

“Shut up,” Fitz snapped, not even turning to look at the other man. Much to Jemma’s surprise, Ward listened, raising his hands in surrender and backing up a few steps.

“He’s got an electronic tag so that he can’t hurt any of us,” Jemma continued, keeping her voice as soothing as possible. “Fitz needed his help to get to us.”

“I swear I wouldn’t have done it unless I needed to,” Fitz jumped in, reaching up to wrap his other hand around Skye’s as well. Jemma wondered briefly how Ward felt right now, being talked about as if he was an inanimate object or a monster, but then she remembered everything he’d done to them and pushed aside the thought.

As they spoke, Skye’s eyes cleared, the last of her sleep and the medication draining from her system, and her breathing pattern regulated. Taking in a deep breath, she gave Jemma’s hand a squeeze and let go of both of them, uncurling from her defensive ball and wincing at the movement. “Alright,” she said at last, keeping a wary eye on Ward as she sat forward. “Looks like you two have got a lot of ‘splainin’ to do.”

 

\------

 _Mission: Eighty-Sixth Day_ _(Part 1)_

 

Fluorescent bulb blinking weakly on as Jemma locked the door behind her, the bathroom felt even more claustrophobic now than it had earlier, when she’d dragged her best friend in here and convinced him to have sex with her. “ _Bloody hell_ ,” she muttered, collapsing onto the closed toilet and dropping her face into her hands. It had seemed like their only option forty-three minutes ago, but now that their agreed-upon time was approaching she could feel nerves crawling up her spine.

Logically, Jemma knew she had nothing to worry about in terms of satisfying Fitz in bed – she’d been told (often) by her only repeat partner that she was not just desirable but also more than proficient at sexual intercourse and its associated activities. But this was _Fitz_ – he would be the person she’d be kissing and caressing and writhing beneath, and a part of her was just completely confused as to how she should feel about that. Another part of her was more than a little intrigued to find out what her best friend would be like in bed, but she found that feeling just as unsettling. It hadn’t helped, of course, that he’d been wearing that damned leather jacket practically for months on end, and Jemma had never found a single article of clothing so attractive before. She blamed the thing (and, by extension, Skye) for the uncomfortable eagerness with which she’d been viewing the more physical aspects of their undercover personas. Apparently, Jemma had a previously undiscovered kink for men in leather jackets, information which she had filed away to keep in mind for her next relationship, whenever that might be.

Taking a deep breath, Jemma stood and turned the tap on. In theory she’d come in here to clean up a bit (and, fine, she was vain enough to want to make sure there weren’t any unattractive stray hairs she’d missed while shaving, or the like), so she thought she should probably get to it. As she waited for the temperature to rise, she watched the trickle of water circle the porcelain sink, her own face cloudily reflected in the stainless steel plug. Jemma told herself for the hundredth time that her and Fitz’s friendship was stronger than any of this – stronger than their jobs, stronger than this mission, and certainly stronger than having joint orgasms a few times. Phrasing it that way in her head actually got her to smile, and she reached for her washcloth.

Besides, all she had to do if her mind got away from her again was remind herself that she was Jemma Harker for the evening, not Jemma Simmons. And Harker was wildly in love with her childhood sweetheart, so having sex with him should be something to anticipate, not fear. A few more calming breaths later, and having finished washing her face, she allowed herself to feel excited about the rest of the evening. It had been a rather long time since she’d had sex, and although she had no idea about Fitz’s skill level (other than that he’d been sexually active with both of his girlfriends at the Academy) at the very least she could guide him into getting her off. Jemma ordered him around all the time in the lab, after all, and he never seemed to mind that; it shouldn’t be that much different between them in bed.


	5. Bleed the Same Light

_Mission: Eighty-Sixth Day (Part 2)_

 

Feeling his arse tensing under her grip, Jemma could barely focus long enough to urge Fitz to speed up, the friction between them reaching a frantic, dizzy crescendo. She couldn’t stop the whimpers that fell from her lips, driven out of her by way that the slide of his cock sent pleasure zipping through her veins, and she watched his face twist as if he couldn’t wait anymore. With two final, deliciously strong thrusts, Fitz found his release, hips jerking insistently against hers and cock hilting inside her as he came. His brows were drawn taut as his jaw went slack and Jemma was just able to recognize her name groaned out over and over again, his voice alone acting as an aphrodisiac. One last shudder ran through his whole body where it was pressed against her, lips sliding hotly against her jaw just before his muscles gave out and his body lowered onto hers.

Arousal slithered up through her from where they were still joined, his hips twitching forward in slight aftershocks, and as she fought to catch her breath she tried to ignore the brief twinge of disappointment that she wasn’t going to finish a second time. Not that coming twice in one night had been a frequent occurrence for her in her last relationship by any means, but her body was ringing with the tremors that meant she’d probably only been a couple minutes away from another excellent orgasm. After tonight, though, she was fairly certain Fitz would be able to get her there twice the next time they had sex, and she let a breathless smile tick up the corners of her mouth.

Besides, she was still floating on a high from her first climax, a combination of the skill of her partner and shock that it had been Fitz to make her feel that way. Her skin tingled as the anticipatory waves slowed, leaving a heady sort of calm in their wake. Relief took over as she started smoothing one hand up and down his arm while he recovered; she’d hoped for the sake of their mission that they would be sexually compatible, and she was deeply gratified to see that the kissing had been a very good indicator after all. A contented sigh disturbed the quiet between them, and she realized that it had come from her. The halted arousal notwithstanding, Jemma felt rather pleased and sated, and very appreciative – as she always was, although usually in very different ways – of her best friend.

At her sigh, he shifted his head up from where it was resting on her chest, blue eyes searching worriedly for hers, and her smile widened. Instinctively wanting to show him what she didn’t yet have the words to say, she used one hand to bring his lips up to hers, pressing in with languid, affectionate kisses. Jemma wasn’t sure why, but something about her reaction released the last of the tension held in Fitz’s body and he finally, truly relaxed into her hold. After another minute or so, he shifted their hips apart and she couldn’t stop the way her breath hitched at their separation, biting her lip as he lifted up to look worriedly down at her.

“Just a bit of expected soreness,” she explained, encouraging him to lie down half over her after he’d disposed of the spent condom. Sliding her legs flat along the bed, Jemma reached out to hug his torso against hers and shook her head into a weary smile. “It’ll fade.”

Fitz made a quiet hum of understanding as he nuzzled into the crook of her neck, wrapping one arm over her stomach with a yawn. “Can I help wi–” His voice broke on a second yawn, and she chuckled, settling her head more comfortably against the pillow.

“Go to sleep,” she murmured, feeling the way his muscles were already relaxing rapidly in the aftermath of his endorphin high. He made an adorable grunt that was probably supposed to be a protest of some kind, but didn’t make an effort to clarify it. Before he slipped completely under, however, Jemma really felt like she should say something about how pleased she was with him. Through securing their covers, they’d discovered another way in which their friendship was almost unbelievably compatible. (A skeptical voice at the back of her head made note of how passionate sex wasn’t usually a tenant of good friendships, but she steadfastly ignored it.) Also, he’d appeared so nervous right before they’d begun the actual intercourse that it seemed wise to reinforce the way she felt about the whole experience, particularly since they had to continue doing this for an undefined amount of time. (The thought sent another little thrill of excitement through her, unbidden, and she ignored that, too.)

“You were lovely, Fitz,” she whispered, hesitant to break the peaceful silence of their bedroom. As he snugged himself closer, his shoulders shifted under where she’d been gently petting his sweaty skin and she felt another surge of affection for him. 

“You were Jemma.” The words were mumbled against her neck, lips barely moving as his stubble tickled her skin, and she wasn’t sure whether it was what he’d meant to say or if it was a slip of the tongue. Either way, his slow, deep breathing and the way his weight lay fully over her side indicated that he was almost certainly halfway asleep, if not already completely there. Smiling again, Jemma let herself slip further into that hazy space between sleeping and waking, feeling so very grateful to be here with Fitz.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Five (Part 4)_

 

The distant roar of a truck permeated the house’s creaking silence, and Jemma tapped her fingers along her new pistol’s grip where it was tucked into her jeans. They’d just finished telling the Wellers that they wanted to be brought in as equal partners on the mysterious item sale, and were waiting for their response. Ethan dropped his eyes from where he’d been staring at his sister and kicked at a nearby chair, sending it skidding across the floor. 

“If you’re gonna do this without getting yourselves killed,” Fitz said, slipping easily back into the guarded, slightly heavier brogue of his undercover persona, “you need our help.” 

“Or anyone’s help, honestly, it’s not as if you have much support these days.” Jemma slipped her arm around Fitz’s waist, remembering when she would have slid her hand into his back pocket just to feel him twitch in surprise. 

“And whose fault is that?” Ethan spun around, waving his unloaded gun at her. Before they'd allowed everyone to wake up, Ward had confiscated all the bullets in the house; if the Wellers agreed to let them in, they’d return half of the ammunition. (They’d unearth the rest on the day of the exchange, assuming they all made it through until then.)

“We saw an opportunity and took it – can’t blame us for that. We _are_ thieves after all.” Fitz gave Jemma a wry look, and she shrugged in agreement.

“We lived like royalty for two months thanks to what SHIELD paid us,” Jemma said, adding what she hoped was a dreamy smile for emphasis. “It wasn’t personal.”

Georgie just shook her head, eyes downcast as Ethan paced impotently along the length of the couch. “They’re right, Ethan – we could use the help.”

“Yeah, well, we wouldn’t need _anyone’s_ help if you hadn’t stolen the fucking thing in the first place!” 

She flinched at her brother’s shouted words but didn’t argue, and Jemma suddenly realized what had seemed so off since seeing her again for the first time five days ago. Before, Georgie had always walked her own path, listening to her brother’s and father’s orders but fulfilling them on her own terms. Now, she did as Ethan instructed without a word of protest – it was as if, at some point in the last year, something had broken her spirit, and Jemma had to wonder if that something was connected to Shawn’s absence. 

“So are we in or not?” Ward stepped forward, arms crossed with one pistol in hand, and Jemma shot him a sharp glare. If he hadn’t spoken, Georgie and Ethan might have continued fighting, and that was just the kind of information they needed if they were going to figure out how best to manipulate them. A sliver of disgust worked its way through Jemma’s chest at the thought, and reminded herself that this was precisely why she preferred to work in the lab rather than undercover, where facts didn’t need manipulation to be useful.

“Fuck,” Ethan swore, kicking another piece of furniture. “Yeah, fuck, you’re in. It’s a truce.” He turned to Fitz, whose gaze didn’t waver as the older man stared him down. “But once the deal’s done I don’t ever want to see your fucking faces again.” 

Laughing darkly, Fitz dropped a quick kiss onto Jemma’s lips and slipped his hand into hers. “Trust me, mate, that won’t be a problem.” 

“Now that’s done,” Jemma said, leaning into Fitz’s shoulder, “I’d like some alone time with my husband.” She allowed herself a few seconds to stare lovingly up at him, and remembered how the last time she'd done this everything had been an act. (Or at least, she'd been telling herself that it was.) "It feels like we were apart for _weeks_." As she tugged him towards the hallway, he turned back to give Ethan a wry salute.

Ward followed them down the hall with a terse: “I’ll take the first watch.” Jemma stopped at the empty room next to Skye’s, letting her fingers trace the handle as she watched him settle into place just to the side of the door. Although Skye was awake now, they hadn’t brought her into the other room for the conversation – they’d filled her in on the plan, and it seemed ridiculous to risk further damage to her leg just so she could see and hear what happened. The pistol Jemma had given Skye notwithstanding, it made her nervous to leave Skye alone with Ward so close by.

“We’ll hear if he moves a step, with these creaky floors,” Fitz murmured, drawing her attention up to him. “Skye’ll be fine.” She smiled into a brief nod and squeezed his hand one more time before releasing it and opening the door.

Ushering Fitz inside the nearly-empty room, Jemma shut the door behind her, making a mental note that they’d have to nick a cot from one of the other rooms. If the four of them were going to be here for the next few days, it would be best that they had at least two beds at their disposal. Before she’d even removed her hand from the door, Fitz was spinning her around, and then his arms were wrapped around her so tightly she could barely breathe. Awkwardly shoving her hands between the leather jacket and his shirt, Jemma did the same, unable to stop her tears. They stood there, ragged breaths permeating the room’s haunting silence, not needing words to convey the fundamental depth of their relief to be together again. 

Forcing herself to calm down, Jemma untangled her hands from Fitz’s shirt and leaned back to meet his eyes. He had tears running down his cheeks, too, so she brought her hands up and wiped them away, smiling tremulously. A hundred different things to say flitted through her head – _I was so worried, I’ve missed you, I didn’t know when I’d see you again, I’ve been so scared_ , and on and on – but none of them seemed enough. Instead, she stretched up and brushed her lips against Fitz’s, knowing that he shared everything she currently felt. 

He clung to her, tremulously raising one hand to her cheek and pressing in with soft, short kisses. Leaning his forehead against hers, he swallowed a couple times before he could speak. “Jemma, I – I was so – you –”

“I know,” she sighed. “But we’re here now. We’re together, and that means everything’s going to be okay. Right?” She smiled into the lie that they both needed to hear, and he nodded in return.

“Right,” he said, leaning down for one more kiss before pulling away to scrub the tears off his face. 

Drying the moistness on her own face, Jemma’s mind swam with all the questions she had for him, although a good part of her just wanted to wrap him around herself and soak in his presence. She’d missed him so terribly and thought of him so often that it still felt a little unreal that he was here at all; they’d been apart for far longer than five days before, of course, but fear had made this time seem endless.

“Quickly,” she whispered, stepping close so that Ward couldn’t hear them through the thin-walled rooms, “what was Greyhound? I’ve been worried sick, not knowing what had happened to you at the Playground.” 

Fitz sighed shakily, studying her face as he answered. “Donnie escaped. S’why I wouldn’t wait to come after you. Dunno if it was lax security because we were all working on the op, or if it was an inside job.” His voice was low and weary as he spoke, scrubbing one hand through his curls. “Coulson’s been spread pretty thin trying to figure out what happened there, and work out how to bring you and Skye home.”

“When you say you wouldn’t wait,” Jemma said, trying not to let her concern color her tone, “what do you mean?”

Lowering his gaze, Fitz raised his hands to his hips, that familiar gesture he used when he was either thinking or feeling defensive; Jemma was fairly certain which one he felt currently. “By the second day, Koenig was able to get a location from Skye’s phone about an hour and a half after you disappeared – so it wasn’t perfect, but considering how empty this one hundred square miles is, we had a good idea of where to search for you. Assuming they hadn’t moved you much farther – I was terrified they had, would’ve blown my whole plan to shit.” He glanced up with a wry smile, but when her face remained impassive he dropped his eyes again. “Coulson wasn’t convinced that just coming out here was a good idea without more info, and it wasn’t until the third day that Koenig found Georgie lurking in the back of someone’s saved Snapchat – you were in it, too, so I guessed that the Wellers were involved. But Coulson kept dragging his feet on approving the rescue mission, fuck all why, and so I came up with my own plan.”

“And it had to involve Ward?!” Jemma couldn’t help the way her voice became shrill and high, trying to speak through her teeth to ameliorate some of the volume. 

“He was the best person for it, Jemma,” Fitz said with a quiet edge. “Trip would’ve just gone to Coulson if I’d asked, and Ward knows Hydra. If the Wellers were still in bed with them – which they sort of are – I knew I’d need his intel.”

“So you tagged him like a bloody dog. How does that even work, anyway? Where’s the control mechanism?”

Glancing at the door, Fitz took a couple steps towards her. “It’s foolproof, I swear, but I haven’t told him how it’s controlled, in case –”

“He figures out to disarm it,” she finished, exhaling. “And so you can’t tell me either, in case he overhears.”

“No.” His voice was almost sad, but when he reached out to take her hand she pulled away, crossing her arms. “I’m sorry, Jemma. I promise I’ll tell you when we’re home. Honestly, it’s so good you won’t let me out of your bed for a week.” The smile he gave her was a pale imitation of the ones he usually used to flirt with her, betraying his own nerves about his actions.

Jemma studied his face, looking for any sign of doubts or regrets, but all she saw was nervousness – presumably about her response. “What if he kills you?”

Fitz inhaled, staring down at his hands. “He dies. If I die, he dies.”

“Jesus, Fitz,” she breathed, having no words to describe what she was feeling right now. Even though she’d only had mealy cereal for breakfast, her stomach roiled as if she’d just eaten a rancid five-course meal. 

“I had to do it, Jemma. I had to save you, and getting Ward out was the only way –”

“Working with someone who tried to _kill_ us was the only way?! It’s just bloody luck we didn’t die in that pod. The man is vile, and the way he talks about Skye, as if he owns her –” 

“I get it, Jemma,” Fitz snapped, “I know who he is and I made my decision anyway, okay? I would do _anything_ I had to do to save you, and maybe you wouldn’t understand –” His eyes widened and he swallowed, shaking his head. “And it’s done now, so –”

“Finish that sentence.” The way his eyes had flashed as he spoke and the shame that darkened his face when he stopped made Jemma’s anger cool into something hard, the fear of what he’d been about to say taking root in her chest.

“Jemma....”

“Finish it, Fitz. I want to hear why I wouldn’t understand.” 

He exhaled into a flat laugh and dropped into the room’s sole, dilapidated armchair. The cloth reminded Jemma of rotting bananas, somehow, the color and pattern alone exuding putrescence. “I feel like I’ve just stepped into an episode of Doctor bloody Who –”

“Tell me what you were going to say.” Jemma was tense from head to toe, suspecting where he was going with this but hoping that he wouldn’t. Her fingernails dug grooves into her arm.

A few moments passed, and he exhaled, his whole body held still and tense. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, reluctant – as if he knew that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. “'Cause I – I love you more. Than you love me.” A dull wave of nausea rolled up from Jemma’s stomach into her throat as he kept talking, her arms falling stiffly to her sides. “And it’s fine, honestly, that doesn’t matter to me, but I just – I’d risk working with a man that I can barely look at if it meant I could save you. I’m working with Ward ‘cause I’d choose you over anything else. And it’s okay that you don’t completely understand that.” 

In her entire life, Jemma couldn’t remember being more livid. Despite never having been a violent person, a good part of her truly wanted to smack Fitz across the face for having the gall to say something like that. As if he’d never believed her all those times she’d said it, shown it, meant it down to the nucleus of every brain cell that recognized him as her _person_. For the first time possibly ever, she truly had no idea what to say to him, and staring down at the enchanting blue eyes she usually so adored was just making her angrier by the second.

“I can’t look at you right now,” she choked out before backing up and escaping into the hallway.

He followed her immediately, his boots’ steps echoing against the dilapidated floorboards. “Jemma, c’mon –”

“No _c’mon_ , Fitz,” she hissed, spinning around and keeping her voice as low as possible. Their enemies surrounded them, unseen though they currently might be, and she wouldn’t have this fight here or now. “I can’t – I’m so angry I don’t know where to start. And if you don’t know why then maybe you’ve never known me at all.” He swallowed, mouth working and halting as he tried to figure out a response that she couldn’t bear to hear. “I’m going to check on Skye. Don’t follow me.” 

As she strode away, she heard him take one, two footsteps towards her, and then no more. At least he’d listened to that. When she reached the door, Ward still stood to its side, arms crossed and eerily still. “Go away,” she bit out as she reached for the handle, her quietness emphasizing the degree to which he should not argue with her. In any case, she didn’t wait for a response, slipping through the doorway and latching the lock behind her, futile though its protection may be. 

A dog-eared magazine lay on Skye’s stomach, although the direction of her gaze suggested that she hadn’t really been trying to read. “Hey,” she greeted Jemma, quickly taking in her balled up fists and the way she paced across the narrow floor. “What’s going on?”

Jemma tried to find an answer, but all she do was turn over Fitz’s words in her head, that horrid _more, more, more_ turning the saliva in her mouth to ash and squeezing the air out of her lungs.

 

\------

 

_Forty-Three Days Before the Kidnapping_

 

The quiet beeping of her bunk’s security code being keyed in woke Jemma from a fitful sleep, although it took her a few, long seconds to tug her comforter down past her eyes. After a small amount of shuffling, the door opened to reveal Fitz, who quickly ducked inside, moving as slowly and quietly as possible in his tactical gear. By the time he slid the door closed again, she was awake enough to pull the comforter all the way down to her chest, although she winced as every single one of her joints protested. 

“Fitz!” A wide smile broke across her face as he turned to her. “I’m so happy you’re home –” 

“Shhh, Jemma, go back to sleep,” he whispered, working on unsnapping his Kevlar. “I just wanted to check on –”

“I meant to come say hi when you arrived –” She scooted back into a sitting position, trying not to cringe too much at the way the movement made her head spin. “I set my alarm, I don’t know why it–”

“Jemma, stop, lay back down,” Fitz interrupted, turning off the light she’d just switched on. “I didn’t want to wake you up, please go back –”

“I’ve missed you terribly,” she said, her voice breaking at the last word and tears spilling over.

Not waiting for her to reach out, which she had just started to do, Fitz dropped onto the bed and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her forward against him. “Oh, Jemma,” he murmured into her hair. “You don’t feel better at all?” 

“No,” she sniffled pathetically, ignoring the way she was leaking all over his undershirt. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m crying, you were only gone for two days....”  

“It’s because you feel like shite,” he answered matter-of-factly, leaning back to smooth hair out of her face. He said something else to her but she missed it, suddenly acutely aware of how horrific she must look right now – but how there was no recognition of this on Fitz’s face. His eyes searched hers as he spoke, a sort of brightness around his expression that she’d only ever seen when he looked at her, and she was struck for the hundredth time how lucky they both were to have found each other all those years ago. 

“You’re my best friend in the world,” Jemma said, smiling up over her quickly-forgotten tears. That wasn’t exactly what she’d meant to say, but in her flu-exhausted brain she couldn’t remember what she’d originally intended. It seemed to convey the same meaning, anyway. 

Fitz stopped mid-sentence and stared down at her for a few seconds with his mouth hanging open, his expression shifting to bemusement. “You’re mine, too, Jemma,” he said with a small chuckle, kissing her forehead. “And so much more. Did you hear anything I just said?”

“Sorry.” But she wasn’t really sorry at all, not if her interruption meant she got to watch him smile that way at her for a little longer. She reached one hand up to trace the outline of his face, thinking vaguely that maybe she’d get better if she could just sit here and watch him, and his brows knotted in concern.

“I just think it’s a good idea if you go see a doctor –”

“I am a doctor –”

“You _have_ two doctorates, that’s not the same –” 

“You can’t scold me, I’m sick.” Grinning, Jemma knew he couldn’t argue with that – although her victory was somewhat undermined when she let out a loud sneeze.

Fitz groaned into a small laugh, snugging her more tightly against his chest. “Alright, alright. I’ll try again tomorrow when you’re more awake.” 

“Ugh, I can’t believe I started crying....” She covered her face with one hand and hid against his shirt. “I’m so embarrassed –”

“C’mon, stop that. You’ve felt awful for a week, it’s alright if you let it out.”

Jemma let him rub her back for a few more seconds, taking enormous comfort from both his presence and the heat radiating off of him – although he did smell slightly like sweat, from being burdened by his tactical gear, and she considered suggesting that he shower before settling in with her. If he had time to stay, that is. “Do you have to go to work right away?” 

“I’ve got half an hour until mission debrief....” He leaned over to glance at her clock. “But I can probably fudge that by another twenty minutes if I say that I was taking care of you.” 

“Good, get the rest of that stuff off and into my bed.”

Letting out a cross between a snort and a laugh, Fitz disentangled himself from her and started to shuck off the rest of his tactical outfit. “Yes, m’am.” 

Jemma scooted back against the wall to make room for him once he was ready, and watched him strip down to his undershirt and boxers. A rather distant part of her wanted very much to have sex with her boyfriend right now, but just the idea of having to move around in order to achieve the desired effect made her vaguely nauseous. Finally, Fitz crawled back onto the mattress and reached over to pull her onto his chest, and she curled herself around him as much as possible.

“They kicked me out of the lab again.”

He chuckled, rubbing her back in a half-massage. “Skye?”

“May. She caught me trying to sneak in....” She trailed off, enjoying the way his laughter rumbled up through where her face was pressed against him.

“Well, now that I’m back I’m gonna take care of you – and make sure you don’t sneak off to do work when you should be resting.” Pressing a quick kiss to the top of her head, he settled against the pillows. “Now, shh. Go back to sleep.” 

Jemma didn’t let her eyes shut right away though, a sudden surge of affection for her best friend and boyfriend making her feel declarative (even more than she already was, under the meddlesome influence of her flu-haze). Fitz was so wonderful to her, and although she knew she’d do the same for him were he sick, his very presence felt like a gift that she was too lucky to have received. Her eyes started to droop, however, the steady lift of his chest soothing her to the point of unconsciousness. _Oh well_ , she thought to herself, wrapping her arm more tightly around his abdomen, _I’ll have to tell him when I wake up._ Besides, it wasn’t like it was a secret – loving Fitz had become like breathing for Jemma, and she showed him every day how she felt.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Six (Part 1)_

 

When Jemma jolted awake for what felt like the tenth time that morning, scrambling to sit up on the floor where she’d been keeping watch over Skye, her fingers caught the edge of her locket’s chain and sent it flying across the floor. She let out a small “oh!” and grabbed at the two ends of the chain with shaking fingers, almost sinking to the floor again in relief when she saw that the clasp wasn’t broken. Before returning it to its rightful place around her neck, she flicked the cover open to stare blurrily down at the little toothpaste tube sketch Fitz had slotted inside. The same thought she’d been repeating over and over in her head all night returned to the forefront of her thoughts and she closed her eyes, wrapping her fingers around the locket and hugging that hand to herself. _How could he not know how much I love him?_ In some ways, it felt like both the stupidest argument and the most important one they’d ever had, but either way she hadn’t been able to bring herself to meet his eyes since she’d stormed out of the room yesterday.

Now that she was truly awake, she wanted to go take a shower – but Skye was still asleep, and Jemma had sent both Fitz and Ward away from guarding the door a couple of hours ago. In theory it was because they’d had a long day and she was awake anyway, but in reality it was because she’d just wanted to feel some modicum of peace. At the time, she’d told herself that maybe she’d know what to say to Fitz if she didn’t have to watch the shadows of his boots under the door, but all she’d done was worry without any result.

After double-checking that Skye’s pistol was within her reach, Jemma tiptoed out of the room and into the hallway, quickly ascertaining that neither of them was in the adjacent room and making her way towards the kitchen. She paused in the doorway, a modicum of tension slipping out of her shoulders at the sight of Fitz sitting at the fold-up table, staring pensively into his bowl of dry cereal. Ward sat across from him, but Fitz’s chair was turned deliberately to the side of the table, as if Ward had joined him and Fitz had refused to acknowledge his presence. 

Something about such a childishly defiant gesture made Jemma want to reach out and hug him, but instead she just rubbed her thumb over the locket’s engraved microscope and stepped into the room. The wooden board she trod on gave a loud creak, and both men turned to her, Fitz’s face lighting up at the sight.

“Jemma!” He leapt out of the chair and took two steps towards her before hesitating, seeing the carefully impassive expression on her face. “How... did you get any sleep?”

“I’d like to take a shower,” she said, ignoring his question. “So I need one of you to guard Skye –” 

“I’ll go,” Fitz interrupted. “I’m done eating anyway.”

Glancing over at where Ward was watching their interaction as coolly as ever, Jemma nodded at Fitz. “Right, thanks,” she said, turning briskly into the hallway to go fetch clothes from Skye’s room.

Before she could reach the door, Fitz caught her by the elbow, warm, familiar fingers gently wrapping around her arm. “Hey, Jemma, I’m really –” 

“Not yet, Fitz,” she whispered, glancing down at where his palm was pressed to her skin. “I’m not ready yet.”

In her peripheral vision, she saw him swallow, eyes blinking quickly as he nodded and let her go. “Right. Okay. I’ll, um, be right here. If you need anything.” He settled himself to the left of the door, arms crossed and head bowed.

As she forced herself to turn away from him and open the door, she heard a low sniffle and her heart gave a tight lurch. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it and grabbed onto her locket, trying to resist the pull she felt towards him on the other side of the wall. Jemma's whole chest hurt, her veins thrumming with indecision, anger, and the love she held for Fitz. How could he _possibly_ not know how much she loved him?


	6. We Fight the Fire

_Mission: Eighty-Eighth Day_

 

Wakefulness came slowly to Jemma this morning, drawing her out of sleep and into the warmth of her and Fitz’s Boarding House bed. The warmth really wasn’t thanks to the bed, of course, but to the Scotsman pressed along her side. They weren’t cuddling, per se – rather, they were lying alongside each other with as much skin touching as possible before it could be considered cuddling. But since she was still half asleep Jemma couldn’t see the logic to this position at all, so she turned clumsily onto her side and wrapped her arms around her best friend. 

As she slipped one leg between his and nuzzled her chilled nose into his neck, she focused in on the fact that Fitz was indeed her best friend and they weren’t generally this tactile – despite their job-necessary sex of the past two nights. Then again – he was warm, and he was her favorite person, and he’d been _inside of her twice_ in the past forty-eight hours, so cuddling really couldn’t be considered that big of a deal. Even if, unlike the sex, there was absolutely no benefit other than to her personally. That was a thought; it was possible that Fitz would want to try to maintain a certain level of normalcy to their relationship when they weren’t having sex (as loudly as possible) or performing for the Wellers. But one didn’t normally ask before cuddling, and she could always blame being mostly asleep if he tried to move away.

Jemma considered all of this in the span of a few seconds, and she needn’t have worried; she wasn’t sure how awake he was (it was hard to tell with her face pressed against his skin), but as soon as he registered her closeness his arms wrapped around her in return. Letting out an indistinct noise of contentment, Fitz nuzzled into her hair and began rubbing his hand soothingly along the cotton shirt covering her back. After her second orgasm very early this morning, she’d gotten chilled as they lay in bed and tried to catch their breaths, so he’d grabbed her his own undershirt (that she had flung away at some point earlier) to wear as she slept.

Cracking her eyes open, she attempted to ascertain whether or not Fitz had put any clothes on while she slept – but the blanket and sheet were in the way. Curious, Jemma shifted around a bit, moving her own bare leg further up. Her breath hitched and a bright flush bloomed on her cheeks as she abruptly determined that, no, Fitz had not put on any boxers during the night, and that he currently had an erection. As a biologist, Jemma knew that this was completely normal for men in the morning – but as a person who was still getting used to doing anything other than platonic activities with her best friend it was something of a surprise. And, well, apparently her body found it rather intriguing, because a whole host of other not-best-friend-appropriate sensations made themselves almost impossible to ignore, and she shifted again to squeeze her thighs more firmly together.

He inhaled shallowly at the brief contact of her skin against his cock, and his hands stilled against her back.

“Sorry,” she said against his neck, and then almost regretted it because he shivered as her breath fanned over his skin. (The shivering was all-too reminiscent of the way he’d acted last night as she touched him, sliding her hands and lips across his chest.) “Wasn’t really awake.”

“S’okay.” His voice was somewhat thicker than usual, but that could absolutely be attributed to the fact that he’d just woken up. “Wasn’t?” 

“Yes, well, _now_ I’m quite awake.” Jemma couldn’t help laughing a little, deciding that she’d move if he wanted her to but that she was ultimately more comfortable than she was embarrassed. 

Much to her relief, Fitz didn’t seem to want her to move any more than she did, because he just chuckled in return and nestled her more solidly against himself. “I have that power over women.”

“All three of us,” she deadpanned, grinning as he made an indignant huff.

“You weren’t complaining last night.” There was more than a note of smugness to his voice, and the slightly-more-awake part of her wanted to teach him a lesson. Physically. With their clothes off. Maybe twice.

Her cheeks flushed again and she just shook her head against his neck, trying to convince herself that her reactions to Fitz were just because it had been so long since she’d had sex with anyone, let alone as good as it had been between them. (If she was being honest, she’d _never_ had sex this good with anyone, so it really wasn’t her fault that she’d been enjoying herself.) 

“Technically, it was this morning,” she muttered, immediately wrinkling her nose at the lameness of her own statement.

He _hmm’d_ , setting his hands back in motion, and she could imagine the way his eyebrow surely arced skeptically up. “Good comeback.” 

Embarrassed by her own inability to deny that she genuinely _liked_ what they’d done together – or, more specifically, how he made her feel – Jemma leaned up on her elbow and gave his other shoulder a light shove. “Like _you_ were complaining. Should I repeat some of your more enthusiastic expressions of –”

“I was just teasing!” His tone was one of exasperation, but his ears were pink and his hands hesitated against her back.

She debated taunting him further – especially because she remembered everything he’d said to her, the exact inflection of his tone, and how it had made her toes curl or hips twitch forward. But they’d only had sex twice, and she didn’t want him to think she was actually making fun of him; she suspected that they were at a somewhat delicate stage of their personal-work relationship right now, despite Fitz’s largely easy acceptance of the whole thing. Walking the line between best friends and sexually-involved co-workers (she blanched internally at the strange, if accurate, phrase) would be difficult for anyone, and they truly needed more practice before they were on solid ground again.

_Hmm. Practice._

One of the side effects of living a criminal’s lifestyle was that they kept very odd hours, and as such it was actually almost noon now, even though they had barely gotten an average night’s sleep. Sounds of the true gambling addicts could already be heard in the rec room, which meant that – whether anyone knew it or not – they already had an audience.

Confusion flickered across Fitz’s face as her expression changed to something far more mischievous, and she shifted her position so she was straddling his hips. He choked on his next breath, hips pushing involuntarily up and making her shiver.

“Two can tease,” she murmured, and he rolled his eyes, letting out a small grunt.

“That’s just unfair, taking advantage of the morning –” 

She interrupted him with a tsk, settling him more firmly against herself and then leaning forward so that their noses were millimeters from touching, hands on his chest. “It’s not unfair if I plan on following through, is it?”

His eyes closed seemingly of their own volition, and she started on a slow roll of her hips, making both of their breaths hitch and sparks of pleasure shoot through her nervous system as his cock stroked over her clit. A groan slid out from deep within his chest and faded into a small whimper as she lifted away and then pressed back in.

A moment later, his eyes flew back open, expression having lost any trace of morning sleepiness. He grabbed onto her upper thighs, effectively halting her movement, and Jemma let out a quiet huff. They stayed there, at an impasse, until Fitz managed to take in a full breath. “But... it’s early....”

It wasn’t actually early, of course, even if it felt like it to them. “Listen,” she whispered, flicking her eyes at the wall behind them. His brows creased, and the quiet chatter of early drinkers and the occasional clatter of billiard balls faded through the wall.

“Oh. _Oh_.” A sliver of sunlight had worked its way through their curtains, making the blue of his eyes seem particularly bright and the blond in his stubble stand out, and she tried not to think about why his objective attractiveness appealed to her so much more now than it once had. 

“Most married couples have sex in the morning at some point, right?” Part of her wondered at when her voice had lowered quite this much, but most of her was just trying not to be embarrassed that she was effectively seducing her best friend. For their jobs, of course – but it still felt odd. If exciting.

A huge smile spread across his face, and his hands loosened, gliding back around her thighs and up to her arse. “I always knew you were the smartest person I’d ever met.” 

Jemma’s laugh was somewhat breathless, her body squirming instinctively as he pulled her closer in, and she leaned up to slide her lips against his. He hummed, his mouth opening for her automatically, and a shudder ran through her whole body. Somewhere in the back of her head – the small part of her that wasn’t completely focused on the way his tongue teased at hers – she couldn’t help but judge her previous two sexual partners for never exciting her like she was right now. But that thought opened up a whole host of concerns that she really didn’t want to examine, so instead she pushed against his chest and rolled quickly to the side of the bed.

Fitz made an adorable cross between a moan and a whine at their separation, and she glanced back at him, grinning as she kneeled at the edge of the bed. “Condom.” 

“Right,” he said, shaking his head as he sat up. 

“Don’t move!” Her words stopped him as he was halfway to kneeling, and he frowned down at where her hand was stretched out towards him. The silence ticked on as Jemma tried to figure out how to say that she was very interested in returning to the exact position she’d left mere seconds ago. “We haven’t tried it... that way. Yet. And I’d like to.”

He stared back at her. “What....” Before he could get out the rest of the sentence, his eyes widened and he made a small choking noise. “Oh,” he breathed hoarsely, “hell.”

Grabbing the condom from her bedside table, she turned back to him, feeling simultaneously sure of her reasoning and nervous. “I sort of thought that since we don’t now how long we’re going to be here it would make sense to try different things. While we’re at it. We already know we’re fairly compatible in terms of ordinary sex, so a bit of experimenting wouldn’t hurt.”

His mouth worked soundlessly for a moment before he nodded, perhaps a little too enthusiastically. “That’s a good – very good idea. S’long as you don’t make me mark down results.”

Smiling in relief, Jemma climbed back over to him with the foil packet in her hand, enormously pleased that he lay back without her having to ask again. “But Fiiiiitz,” she teased, once again straddling his hips, “comparing results is the best part.” On the last two words, she gyrated against him again, and he released a quiet moan.

“Oh, God, alright, results, anything, whatever you want,” he breathed, pupils blown wide as they rocked together. 

“I thought you might say that.” She grinned again, watching him try to formulate a comeback of some sort and failing as his attention kept drifting to where they were moving together, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth and low grunts eking out of his throat. Once she’d handed him the condom, Jemma lifted away and reached down to pull off the plain undershirt, knowing that shortly she wouldn’t need its warmth. But when she tossed the shirt to the side, she noticed that he hadn’t moved, mouth hanging open and gaze focused on her now bare breasts. Jemma cleared her throat, crooking a brow as he started and his eyes flashed up to hers.

“What?”

“You really are easily distracted, you know.”

He grumbled, quickly rolling the condom on and tossing the wrapper away. “Make yourself less distracting and I won’t be.”

Jemma chuckled, but before she could taunt him further he pulled her in for a heated kiss and slid his hand between them to rub light circles over her clit, causing her to whimper as her attention narrowed to rocking her hips back against his touch. It wasn’t fair that he’d figured out so quickly how to make her brain shut down, she thought to herself, but even that was cut off as he did something with his two forefingers that forced an actual moan out of her throat. When he released her lips to trail kisses up her jaw, she was already at the point of being dizzyingly turned on. 

“Turn about’s fair play, hmm?” Fitz murmured into her ear, and she shivered all the way down to her toes.  

“Something like that,” she replied, delving back into kissing him. Intent on making him feel at least half as aroused as she was, Jemma ignored the voice in the back of her head that wondered if she really was doing this just to maintain their cover.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Six (Part 2)_

 

A slice of moonlight cut through the window’s thin, cotton curtains, and Jemma mentally scrolled through the types of wildlife indigenous to this area of the country in her head. Nothing particularly interesting, unfortunately, but as she couldn’t sleep it would have to do. The day had been dull and fruitless; although Jemma had tried to talk to Georgie when she’d spotted her on the back porch, the older woman had just shaken her head and strode away. 

Skye shifted at the other end of the bed, stretching her legs towards where Jemma was curled, knees pulled into her chest. “Do you want me to move?” She kept her voice quiet, in case her friend hadn’t truly woken, but Skye peered up at her nonetheless.

“You’re still awake?” When Jemma nodded, her friend sighed, pushing her bangs out of her eyes. “Still thinking about your fight?”

The sound of the neighboring door creaking open disrupted the room’s quiet, and they both turned towards the hallway. Low voices – one American accent and one Scottish – crept through the cracked wooden doorframe, and heavier boots strode into place in front of their door. Jemma’s gaze slid to the wall next to her, knowing that Fitz had just switched guard shifts with Ward.

Skye sighed, sitting up properly. “Jemma, go talk to him. I don’t need two PhDs to know that you want to.”

“I’m not leaving you here with Ward,” Jemma muttered, staring at the shadows beneath the door. 

“Okay, first of all,” Skye started, ticking points off on her fingers as she went, “I’m not ‘with’ Ward. He’s on the other side of the wall – same distance as you’ll be next door, by the way. You’ll be like four feet away from me, so you can bust over here the second you hear anything fishy. Second – or, um, third? Whatever, I can take care of myself.” She gestured at the pistol lying by Jemma’s feet. “Leave me that and I’ll sleep like a baby.”

Jemma dropped her eyes, breath feeling rather shallow. “I don’t know what to say to him.” Her voice was low and shaky, and she had to inhale quickly to stave off tears. Considering how angry she was it seemed ridiculous, but all she wanted right now was to be with Fitz.

“I don’t have an answer for that,” Skye said, gently prodding her arm. “But I bet you’ll figure it out if you go over there.”

Once she’d taken a few more seconds to look like she was considering her decision, Jemma reluctantly unfolded herself from the bed. In truth, she’d been watching Fitz’s shadow under the door for the past hour, desperately wanting to know what he was thinking, and she’d felt the pull towards the other room the second she’d guessed they were switching shifts. But it took Skye’s insistence that she could protect herself for Jemma to give in.

Before reaching for the door handle, she realized that she’d stopped to smooth back her hair and adjust her clothes, and she berated herself for being so foolish. She wasn’t going to pick up her boyfriend for a _date_ , for heaven’s sake – in addition to having just had their worst-ever fight, they were in an extremely dangerous situation. But the instinct had still snuck up on her and she shook her head as she opened the door.

Ignoring Ward’s looming presence, Jemma stepped over to the adjacent door and knocked twice. “What?” Fitz’s voice was terse, presumably expecting it to be Ward, but his tone still set her on edge as she slipped through the door and secured the lock. He had his pistol in hand but lowered it the second he saw her, mouth dropping open and eyes immediately lighting up. A moment later, though, she could see him remember why they’d barely spoken in twenty-four hours, and his gaze became guarded, if no less eager. “Jemma. I’m glad it’s you.”

Not for the first time, Jemma was surprised to find that Skye was right – as she studied the nearly-bruise-colored circles underneath Fitz’s eyes, she knew exactly what to say. “I was wondering,” she whispered, clearing her throat, “if I might be able to talk to my best friend. The – the man I love really upset me, and I’d like to talk about it.” Jemma paused to watch comprehension bloom on Fitz’s face and then fade to something far more inscrutable. “No one understands me like my best friend.”

At that, he clenched his jaw and glanced briefly down before reaching around to put his pistol on the cot. “Yeah,” he said, opening his arms once he was facing her again. “Course you can talk to your best friend.”

Barely waiting for him to finish speaking, Jemma flung herself into his arms, burying her face in his neck and squeezing as hard as she could. He held her back, familiar hands smoothing over her shoulders and snugging her against his chest. His arms were her home even if she was still angry, and it only took her a few shuddering breaths to feel calm in a way that she hadn’t since the day of the kidnapping.

Neither of them spoke for quite some time, having come to a tacit agreement not to disturb their uneasy peace. Feeling him swallow above her, Jemma wasn’t surprised that Fitz broke the silence first, although his words felt like a punch to the gut. “Does that mean....” His voice caught, coming out more thickly once he’d cleared it. “Does that mean we’re not together anymore?”

“What?” Her voice was shrill, and she leaned back to meet his eyes, their blue dark and shimmering despite the poor lighting.

“You said – you wanted your best friend, so I didn’t know if that meant –”

“No!” Jemma fisted her hands into the buttons of his wrinkled shirt. “No, that’s not what I meant! I mean....” She exhaled, carding her fingers through her ponytail before tugging him onto the cot with her. “It is what I meant, but not permanently. Not even for the rest of the night. I just... I need to talk to you about what happened like I would’ve about – about Jeremy or Dan, back at the Academy. Okay?” His expression was still guarded as he nodded, so she gave in to herself and leaned over for a chaste, lingering kiss. “I’m still in love with you, Fitz. One fight isn’t going to change that.”

A wave of tension released from his body at her words, and he dropped his forehead to her shoulder, the hand she held in hers trembling slightly. “Alright,” he mumbled, taking in another deep breath before straightening to meet her gaze again. “I get it. I think. Go ahead.”

A frisson of nerves shot down her spine, and a familiar form of anxiety took root in her stomach. It was similar to a fear of public-speaking, although she’d always been rather good at that; it was speaking words that mean so much in private that scared her. If she said the wrong thing there was no real way to take it back - it will have already been spoken. But she knew she needed to push past that fear, now more than ever, if they were ever going to be able to move on together as they should.

Jemma inhaled, glancing down at their hands as she spoke, words coming out haltingly as she tried to find the best way to explain what had happened. “The man I love – he – you see, he hurt me very deeply by saying that I couldn’t love him as much as he loved me. He said he loved me so much that he’d chosen to break the law and release a dangerous, violent man, and that I couldn’t understand that because I didn’t love him enough.”

“That’s not what I –” 

“ _Fitz_.”

His face wilted again, shoulders slouching forward as he squeezed her hand. “Sorry – yeah, sorry.”

“It’s as if he thinks that because he figured out his feelings first, that must mean they were deeper, or stronger, or something, and it makes me so _angry_ because he isn’t in my head. He has no idea how much I –” Her voice broke, and she took a moment to center herself, to keep from completely losing her composure. “How much I love him. I don’t even have the words for it, Fitz, I don’t, I don’t know how to tell you how much you mean – he means to me. It’s like there’s a ball of feeling right here –” She pressed into her abdomen just below her breastbone. “That’s so strong, that aches for needing you, but I don’t know how to say what it means. And it’s not like those stupid movies Skye watches, where they always have the words about love, and it being all-consuming, and that rubbish. You’re a part of me, and I don’t have a better way to say it than that.

And it can’t be less than what you feel because – because it can’t be. I can’t imagine anyone feeling about someone else the way I do about you, it’s too big and important and strong, but of course they do. Humans fall in love and it’s perfectly natural. But it also blinds us to the feelings of others, I think. And I may only have ever been in love with one person, but I don’t think it works like that. That there’s more or less of it. If it’s love – real, actual love – that’s it. It’s unconditional, and permanent. And I love y– him. Oh, sod it,” she muttered, giving up on the pseudo-roleplay entirely. “I love _you_. You’re it for me. And I hate the idea that you don’t believe that, or that you think I wouldn’t do _anything_ in my power to save you.” 

Her words halted as a warm body wrapped itself so tightly around her that she had trouble breathing. Fitz buried his head in her neck, and she thought she felt wetness on his cheeks. “That’s how I feel,” he mumbled into her skin. “That’s how I feel about you all the time.”

But she wasn’t done yet. She’d been thinking about this earlier in the day, and it seemed important now, more so even than any of the nonsense she’d just rambled out. “Me not agreeing with your actions doesn’t mean that I can’t understand them, or that I love you less. That’s part of our relationship, that I don’t always agree with you, and vice versa.” He nodded against her, and she smiled faintly at the thought of all of their hundreds of arguments in the lab; the idea of the two of them always agreeing about anything seemed almost unfathomable. Taking another deep breath, she forced herself to stay on track. “You would make anything happen in order to save me, Fitz. You said that’s why you broke Ward out of the Playground, and I was... I was trying to think of the worst thing I would do. To protect you. And I... if I had to, if it was the only way to save you, I would give you up. I can’t think of anything that would hurt more than giving you up.” Jemma paused again, shifting around so that she could meet his eyes. “Do you understand?”

He leaned back, teary gaze meeting hers as he reached up to swipe at the few fallen droplets on his cheeks. “I think so,” he whispered, voice low and remorseful. “I honestly didn’t want to upset you, Jemma, it’s the last thing I wanted. I didn’t mean to say it, just slipped out –”

“But you were thinking it,” she interrupted, more gently this time, unsettled by the amount of distress he seemed to be under. Fitz always seemed so strong to her, so steady, and to watch him crumble under the fear of her ending their relationship made her stomach hurt. Still, she knew they needed to finish this conversation, and pressed on, curling her fingers around his hand as a concession to both their nerves. “Even if you hadn’t let it slip, it’s what you’d been thinking. All this time that we’ve been together, back at the Base.”

Fitz turned away again and inhaled. “Not – not consciously, or anything. I just....” He let out a small groan, scratching his fingers through his hair and then squeezing his eyes shut. “Dunno how I could be worth all that I feel for you, so it only makes sense that I’d feel more.”

“Oh, Fitz,” she sighed, reaching out to pull him back into her embrace. He buried his face in her neck and, as she smoothed one hand through his hair, tears stung at the back of her eyes, though none fell. Jemma would never understand his refusal to admit to his own wonderful qualities; he’d always been like this, even back at the Academy, and she often wondered what terrible bullying he’d had to endure as a child. (One day, when he finally believed her, maybe she’d ask.) “You trust me, right?”

“Of course,” he mumbled against her skin. “More than anyone.”

“Then you have to trust in how much I love you.” Jemma untangled his arms from her so that they could see each other straight on, as much as was visible in the dimly lit ruin of a room. “You have to, Fitz. I don’t think we’re sustainable otherwise.”

He studied her as if he was trying to memorize every crease and curve of her face, as if she was a machine that was so close to being solved, his eyes still somewhat wet but steady nonetheless. After what felt like a long time, he raised one hand to caress her cheek and nodded. “I’ll try, Jemma. I promise I’ll try.”

“Thank you,” she whispered, leaning in for a slow, affectionate kiss. “That’s all I want.” Rubbing her nose gently against his, she sighed, suddenly consumed by the exhaustion that had plagued her since arriving in this house. After she removed his pistol from where it lay on the mattress behind her, Jemma stood and shimmied out of her jeans, then glanced up to see Fitz staring at her, open-mouthed. “What?”

He frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m just... we don’t have any protection, Jemma....”

A snort-laugh escaped her before she could check the reaction, sounding wildly out of place in this dilapidated house, and she laughed again at the dissonance. “I just want to go to bed, you ridiculous man, and I can’t sleep in skinny jeans. Unless you happen to have a spare pair of PJs hidden under that jacket....”

Face flushing pink, Fitz stood and pulled off his leather jacket. “Oh, right. That makes more sense.”

A thought occurred to her and she grabbed the jacket from him before he could toss it onto the rickety armchair, digging quickly through the inner pockets. “Actually,” she said, grinning as she pulled out two square, foil packets, “looks like we could have sex after all.”

His hands stilled, halfway through pushing his jeans down, and he stared blankly at her. “How in the –”

“It seems that Koenig never actually went through the pockets when you gave it back to him,” she explained, peering at the expiration date. “Still valid, too.” 

“Oh lord,” he chuckled, kicking off his jeans and starting on his buttons. “From when you were convinced that we could need to ‘secure our covers’ at any time –”

“Hey, you benefited from my excellent preparation skills more than once – don’t knock it.” Jemma wagged a finger at him, smiling as she dropped the packets back into the jacket.

“I wouldn’t dare,” Fitz deadpanned, earning him an affectionate slap on the shoulder. “You don’t really... do you?” 

After neatly folding the jacket and placing it on the chair, she shook her head and climbed onto the cot. “No, although I suppose it’s nice to know we have the option, even in the middle of bloody nowhere in a house filled with criminals. Right now, I would just like to get a few hours sleep – once you stop futzing around and come to bed.”

“Impatient,” he grumbled, half-heartedly folding his shirt and dumping it on the chair before dropping onto the narrow edge of the cot. There was a time when he would have just tossed all his clothes straight onto the floor, but she’d been nudging him about his slobbery ever since they’d first started sharing a room at the Wellers’ and he’d been making a concerted effort to improve. (It didn’t hurt, of course, that she had much greater leverage now than she used to.) He waited for her to slide her legs under the accompanying, threadbare quilt before doing the same and pulling it over the two of them.

Without needing any words to know exactly what she wanted, Fitz wrapped his arms around Jemma, tucking his head under her chin and tangling their legs together. It was a tight fit on the narrow bed, but they were both rather small anyway and, as they’d spent far too much time apart in the past week, she had no desire to be any further away from him than was necessary right now. Her fingers carded through his hair and he sighed, closing his eyes, warm breath puffing out against her collarbone.

“If you change your mind about needing those condoms,” he mumbled after a few moments of silence, “just lemme know.”

Jemma laughed, pulling him even closer and letting her own eyes slip closed. “You’re incorrigible.” Fitz just hummed sleepily in response, and she let her hand still against the thin cotton of his undershirt. “I love you, Leo Fitz.” 

He let out a deep, jaw-cracking yawn and tilted his head up, nuzzling at her nose to get her to look at him. “I know,” Fitz said once she met his eyes, a small, apologetic smile dancing around his lips. “Love you, too – but not more or less.” 

“Good.” Pressing in for languid, sleepy kisses, Jemma felt almost peaceful, trusting that – as ever – Fitz would keep his promise. Things weren’t totally fixed between them, not yet, but a huge weight had been lifted away from her mind at being able to verbalize what had been bothering her. Maybe tonight she would actually be able to get some rest.

 

\------

 

_Mission: Ninety-Ninth Day_

 

Jemma squinted after Fitz as he jogged towards the Aston-Martin, the angle of the sun making it difficult to watch his progress. Although she should be thrilled because Charlie had just given them their first day off in ages, she couldn’t quite shake the bitter taste that had clung to the back of her throat for the last half an hour. 

Everything had been going so well; the sun was warm, the wind cool, and Fitz had spent hours kissing and holding her. It was a somewhat unusual way for two best friends to pass the time, to be sure, but it helped them secure their cover – and, as they’d long since established, her best friend happened to be an excellent kisser. He’d also gotten very good at pretending to be completely smitten with her, and if Jemma was being honest with herself it was hard to resist such attention, false though it may be. In the past couple of weeks, exploring the physical aspects of their covers’ relationship had become her favorite way to pass the time – it was so much easier than having to ape Jemma Harker’s impatience or audacity. When Fitz kissed her, the rest of the criminal underworld faded away, leaving just the two of them in a sort of void of play-pretend, what things might be like between them if they hadn’t been best friends for not-quite half their lives. She was beginning to suspect that there was something underneath the comfort she found in Fitz’s touch, but never allowed herself to dwell on it for long; their mission was far more important.

But today she’d watched him beat a man unconscious without a second thought, and her stomach had twisted in fear that her best friend was disappearing before her eyes. He’d reappeared shortly after, turning to her for approval, but for those few seconds she’d seen a stranger stand before her. Her best friend had always been so gentle, carefully only ever taking up as much space as he needed in a room and allowing others to take up so much more, using his hands to create marvelous things and never to cause harm. It had been his job to hurt that man (and others), Jemma knew that and would argue for it if anyone would dare to question his actions once they were back at the Playground. But when they’d first gotten out here, were still green and learning, he’d always demonstrated a strong discomfort with his own behavior, usually needing her reassurance either visually or later verbally.

Today once Fitz had knocked the man out, he had this look in his eyes that unnerved Jemma, as if he was unperturbed, or almost at ease. As if he hadn’t recognized that what he’d just done was very, very unlike him. She’d demurred when he asked, disconcerted enough that she didn’t really know what to say, but as she followed him to the car she tried to work herself up to discussing it somehow. A long time ago, months earlier in the Georgian wilderness, she’d promised that if she ever suspected that he was veering off the path, she would tell him. It might be time for her to fulfill that promise. 

But as Jemma rounded the corner, she was perplexed to see Fitz pulling a large box out of the trunk rather than starting the car’s engine. When he saw her approaching, he turned the box to face her, a half-grin lighting up his face. 

“I’ve had this blasted thing in the trunk for almost four days. Kept forgetting to bring it up.”

She reached for the box, fingers curving around the cardboard edges as she noted the brightly-colored fonts and smoothly-photographed microscope plastered across the front. An incredulous laugh fell from her lips, warmth spreading out from her chest. “A... children’s microscope kit.”

“It’s probably against protocol, I know, but I figured we could just chalk it up to your mother’s nurse background if anyone asks,” he rambled, shoving his hands into his pockets as he waited for her response. 

Jemma didn’t have one though, recognizing the dizzying surge of happiness that rolled through her from the morning after their first time, when he handed her that toothbrush with the paste already on it. It popped into her thoughts so often these days that she almost hated the damned thing now, angry that her subconscious kept returning to it and afraid of what it might mean. Her eyes swam a little as she realized that he’d gone out of his way to fetch this silly toy because she’d been so unhappy without her usual scientific work. It was such a small gesture, but in some ways it felt so very important – he could have gotten into a large amount of trouble if any of the Wellers had seen him hunting for it, innocuous as a children’s toy might seem. After a few moments, she raised her eyes to his, brain spinning as she unsuccessfully tried to figure out how to tell him how much this present meant to her – how much he meant to her.

When Fitz met her gaze, his smile fell, clearly confused by the emotion he saw brimming there. “Don’t you like it?” His voice was quiet and worried, and she lowered her hands, preparing to put the box down. “It’s mostly a joke, honestly, and I’ve got the receipt, so I can return it if you don’t –” 

Finally free of her encumbrance, Jemma flung her arms around Fitz’s shoulders and buried her face in his neck as the right words came to her after all. “Don’t you _dare_ return it,” she whispered fervently, hugging him to her as if he might disappear were she to let go. “Thank you, Fitz.”

Those words weren’t enough, actually, didn’t quite express the hugeness of the feelings inside her, but they would have to do for now. Until she was able to parse through what was changing within herself, in addition to what was changing within him. Taking a few deep breaths, until the shakiness faded and left only her excitement about her present and their impending day off, Jemma held her arms around Fitz until an idea popped into her head.

“Can we go back there tomorrow?” He stared down as she smiled up at him, quickly adding: “To that field, the drop site?” Naturally he wouldn’t know that she’d been thinking about that day just a few minutes ago; her brain had gotten ahead of her again, and she babbled on. “There were some truly interesting specimens growing in that field I wouldn’t mind seeing under the microscope. I couldn’t do anything useful with it, of course, but it would be fun to... to see....” Jemma trailed off, a voice in the back of her head (that sounded suspiciously like her childhood neighbor) reminding her that most people wouldn’t consider examining plant life under a microscope to be fun. 

Fitz grabbed the hand that she’d started twisting into her blouse and hugged it to his chest, an unmistakably fond grin gracing his lips, and she was reminded of the fact that her best friend was not most people. “That sounds great, Jemma. We can bring a picnic.” 

Smiling and shaking her head at his preoccupation with food, she reached a hand up to caress his cheek. “Wouldn’t want to starve out there, would we?” Before she could become distracted by the thought that she once wouldn’t have made such an affectionate gesture as she teased him, Jemma swooped down to pick up the box and return it to the car.

“Fine,” he grumbled as she snapped the trunk shut, and she rolled her eyes at the poutiness to his tone. “I’ll just bring food for myself,” he added, eyeing her as she opened the car door. “You’ll see what it’s like out there in a ruddy field without food for four hours.” 

“Normal people don’t starve after four hours without food, Fitz.” As she buckled herself in, she thought about how she was very glad that he wasn’t one of those “normal” people, and allowed herself a sly smile. Fitz was trying, unsuccessfully and adorably, to think of a good comeback, and she couldn’t stop herself from leaning over and pressing her lips to his. He leaned gratefully into the kiss, one hand coming up to curl into the hair behind her ear, and Jemma had the brief thought that she was perfectly, absolutely happy here. Worrying about Fitz and the effect the mission might be having on him could wait; for now, she was sitting in a beat-up, lime-green Aston-Martin with her best friend in the whole world and thinking about little else other than how his lips felt as they brushed tenderly over hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [eclecticmuse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/EclecticMuse/pseuds/EclecticMuse) did a beautiful illustration for Day Ninety-Nine, which can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4193685)!


	7. When Everything's Wrong (You Make It Right)

_Mission: Eighty-Ninth Day_

 

The dim apartment was filled with the sound of heavy breathing from both of them, and Jemma felt overheated, having forgotten to turn the air conditioning on earlier. Leaning back to sit on her heels, she watched Fitz over the nearly empty glass of water from which she now drank. He was sprawled over the sofa, hands fisted into the cushions and eyes shut tightly over his sharp panting. Every so often he’d release a delayed sigh and his lips would twitch up into a half smile, as if he was reliving something she’d done as he slowly came down from his climax. The way his mouth hung open, lips flushed and moist, had Jemma squirming where she kneeled, and she turned to put the empty glass back onto the coffee table. She hadn’t really expected that bringing Fitz to orgasm that way would affect her so much, but now she was almost impatient for him to return from his haze. “Almost” being the key word, because she found she really enjoyed watching this completely helpless version of her best friend – which was odd for a few reasons, but she ignored most of them.

After having properly caught her own breath, she climbed onto the sofa next to Fitz, tucking herself along his side and rearranging his arm so that it wound around her back. He tried half-heartedly to reciprocate the cuddling, but couldn’t do much other than hum indistinctly and angle himself slightly towards her, causing her to smile. Although she’d performed oral sex on her last boyfriend, she’d never been anyone’s first time for anything, and she wondered if an extended period of recovery was standard. She might have to ask Fitz later, if he wasn’t too embarrassed to answer.

Whatever Jemma had been expecting when she’d asked Fitz why he hadn’t requested that she reciprocate the oral sex with which he’d been so enthusiastic, it hadn’t been what he’d said. After a certain amount of spluttering and him taking a very long drink of water, he’d finally, hesitantly admitted that no one had done that for him before. (It had taken a fair amount of awkward coaxing to get that much out of him, for that matter – one girlfriend had been uncomfortable with the idea, and the other had tried once, but they’d both been drunk and it hadn’t gone far.)

“ _Are you not interested, or...”_

_“No – I, um, am, but – it d-doesn’t matter, honestly, I know it’s not – girls don’t always...”_

_“I seem to remember you convincing me a few nights ago that since, um, it had been your idea, it meant you were interested. If I remember correctly. I was rather distracted at the time.”_

_“Oh... uh, yeah, that sounds, um, familiar.”_  

His nerves couldn’t hide the outline of his erection against his jeans, though, or the way his gaze kept flickering down to her lips without conscious intent. She’d readily acquiesced to his request to use a condom, finding his apparently intense fear of doing anything to cause her discomfort deeply endearing. (And, admittedly, performing oral sex hadn’t been her favorite bedroom activity with Dan, so the condom was a welcome suggestion. But she’d already decided to move this particular activity up her mental list of things to repeat with Fitz; he hadn’t even had his hands on her, and she suspected that she was more than ready for sex this instant.)

Once his breathing started to even out, she couldn’t resist touching him any longer, reaching over to smooth her fingers over his stubbled cheek or trace along the edge of his hairline. Fitz made an indistinct noise of contentment and leaned into her touch, nuzzling against her palm. Jemma had been trying not to think about it too deeply, but she found her own reactions to him just as interesting as his to her. Every groan he’d made, or every time his hips had twitched forward against where she held him, or every time he’d gasped her name, had all just shot straight through her, making her own sex slick from wanting. And there had definitely been something her subconscious found appealing in the way he followed her instructions and adjusted as she moved him, how he’d begged her to keep going or repeat a particular slide of her tongue. Her ex had never been as responsive or pliable as Fitz, and it was ultimately that which made her so eager to try it again, the idea of being able to coax those reactions from him. Of course, she knew that to some extent it was artificial – they  _were_  intentionally trying to be as loud as possible – but just because his reactions were enhanced didn’t mean that they weren’t genuine. And not all of it could be pretended for their invisible audience, after all, like the way he stared down at her or how the muscles of his thighs twitched under her hand. The whole thing had been shockingly arousing, and it was just their first try.

Finally, he returned to himself, unfocused blue eyes blinking open to search out her face. His throat was too dry when he attempted to speak, so she cuddled in closer, feeling his hand tighten properly around her waist as he swallowed a few times.  

“Wow, Jemma,” he murmured, accent thickened in desire, and reached over to curl his fingers around the back of her head.

“Wow yourself,” she replied, grinning as he leaned up to capture her lips for sweet, clumsy kisses that held almost none of his normal finesse. They were loose presses of his mouth against hers, blindly seeking a connection that he couldn’t quite articulate in his continued post-coital haze. Something tightened in Jemma’s chest at his gentle eagerness, the way even his touch spoke to a certain level of appreciation and sweetness that neither of her exes had ever demonstrated, in bed or out. 

At one point a few minutes earlier, Fitz’s eyes had met hers as she’d slid her mouth fully over his cock, and he’d released the cushions to reach for her with one hand. She’d worried briefly that he was going to hold her head or clutch uncomfortably at her hair, but instead he’d glided the backs of his fingers along her jaw, breath hitching as she sucked more firmly around him, and then he’d grabbed onto the hand she was using to steady his hips. His breathing had been ragged as he’d tangled his fingers with hers, and she’d realized that he wasn’t trying to release her grip, but was seeking some form of contact with her beyond where her mouth and tongue worked over him. He hadn’t broken her gaze since clutching at her hand, and the way he watched her, with desire, awe, and something else she couldn’t quite name, almost tempted her to draw away so that they could inch towards bliss together.

Instead, she’d pulled back for a moment, giving herself a second to inhale properly as he let out an involuntary whimper. Untangling his fingers from hers, she’d laid his hand against her neck, just under her jaw. “Here,” she’d murmured, “like this.” After a moment, he’d nodded and started to say something – but she’d lowered her mouth over him again and he’d released a full-throated groan, head falling back as he was lost rapidly in the pleasure she was giving him. 

“So,” she said once Fitz eventually pulled back from their sweet, messy kisses, “was that something you’ll want to try again?” Jemma knew the answer before she asked, and was rewarded with the disbelieving chuckle she’d expected. What she hadn’t anticipated, though, was the way he curled around her on the sofa, heedless of the fact that he was still half-naked or of their slightly awkward position. 

“God, yes,” he replied emphatically, before frowning, his ears flushing pink. “I mean, if you want to. I dunno if – what you – don’t have to....”

Smiling, she pressed two fingers against his mouth to stop his rambling. “I do – I, um, rather enjoyed that,” Jemma said, breaking eye contact briefly as she wondered if that was something she should admit. Then again, she knew Fitz, and if she didn’t assure him that she was an active participant he’d probably demur the next time she suggested it.

Sure enough, when she tried to meet his eyes again, he was staring bashfully down between them. “No, it’s fine, Jemma, you don’t have to – I mean, I won’t lie,” he said, chuckling, “that’s probably one of the best, um...”

“Orgasms?” She nudged his shoulder and he smiled back at her, somehow still embarrassed by that one word after all they’d done together this week.

“Yeah, that I’ve ever had. But I like the other stuff we’ve been doing, too.” Fitz traced the curve of her jaw, eyes darkening in a way that made her shiver. “No need to do something you don’t like, for God’s sake.”

Sighing, Jemma pulled her bottom lip between her teeth as she stared at him, debating how far she wanted to take this conversation. After a moment, she stopped his fingers’ path along her neck, and then shifted so that she was on her knees next to him. He frowned, probably about to ask what she was doing, when she unbuttoned her jeans and his eyes widened. Twining their fingers together, she drew his hand beneath the elastic of her underwear and let out an unintentional whimper when his fingers slid over her oversensitive sex. Fitz’s breath caught, leaving him all at once in a shocked wave as she pressed their joined fingers into the slickness of her arousal, her hips twitching instinctively against his touch. She gave into the feeling for a few seconds, allowing herself a moment of weakness as she tried not to remember what she knew he could do to her with those fingers.

“I wasn’t lying, Fitz,” she exhaled, her voice catching as she removed their hands and his fingers made a clearly deliberate stroke against her clit. Taking a moment to remember how to breathe, she leaned her forehead against his and let her eyes slip closed.

“Christ, Jemma,” he said, voice hoarse, and before she could react his mouth was against hers as he pushed her backwards onto the couch. Clearly he had returned to his full mental faculties because he was stealing her breath with every press, lick, or slide of his lips, and she only managed to break away when he tried, unsuccessfully, to tug her trousers off in their current position.

“Fitz,” she managed to get out, giggling at the frustrated huff he gave when her skinny jeans refused to cooperate. “You don’t have to – I didn’t do that to get you to reciprocate right now, honestly. I just thought showing you might be easier.”

“Easier,” he scoffed, trailing his lips along her neck and nipping at the join of her shoulder. “I think you mean maddeningly sexy. Much more accurate.”

Jemma laughed again and pulled his head back up to where she could see him, shifting slightly so that he was lying more comfortably over her. “What happened to the completely wrecked Fitz who was here a couple minutes ago, hm?”

In the darkness, his eyes were the color of lapis, lips quirking upwards in mischief, and she inhaled as a frisson of heat curled through her at the realization that the power dynamics had shifted between them. This back-and-forth, a cycle between who would lead, was quickly becoming one of her favorite things about having sex with her best friend, and she assumed it was because there were no emotional stakes tied to their actions. The sex itself was for work, not for them, which surely made it more freeing.

“Got other things to focus on right now,” Fitz murmured, leaning back in to slant her mouth open and kiss her deeply. She let herself fall into him again, her tongue seeking his to satisfy that need for friction and heat.

Not long passed, though, before she pulled back, eliciting a low grumble from Fitz that she found wildly endearing. “Don’t you have, um....” She flicked her eyes down between them. “Something to take care of?” 

He took a moment to process her question and then exhaled, glancing down. “Right,” he muttered, scrambling backwards and pulling her into a sitting position. “I’ll be right back – don’t go anywhere.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Jemma grinned into the chaste kiss Fitz gave her, pulling her legs into her chest as she watched him pad into their bedroom to clean up. Having him reciprocate had honestly not been on her mind when she’d suggested they try this, but Jemma Simmons was no fool. When someone as talented with his hands as Leo Fitz seemed intent on repaying such a favor, she certainly wasn’t going to say no. It was only fair, after all.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Seven (Part 1)_

 

Cold wind ruffled the brown grass in the backyard, and Jemma shivered, both hands wrapped around her chipped mug. The Wellers didn’t keep tea in their hideaway, so she was slowly sipping her half a cup of lukewarm coffee and trying to pretend that the cream and sugar made it palatable. In the back corner of the yard, one of the Wellers’ lackeys ambled past a dilapidated swing set that the original owners had abandoned along with their home, stepping over one swing’s broken chain and dodging the wind-propelled other one.

Thankfully, this morning she didn’t feel as bone-tired as she had for most of their time here. Waking up curled against Fitz’s chest felt like home, even if this place was most decidedly not that, and having him murmur how much he loved her as they fell asleep meant that her night had been mostly dreamless. Things weren’t precisely normal between them, both still tiptoeing around each other in the aftermath of their fight, but in some ways that was a rather good thing, Jemma thought. They’d clung to each other all night, needing the reassurance of each others’ presence, and she found their mutual unrest somewhat comforting. As if their respective discomfort validated that of the other. Once they were home, they’d be able to get back to a real balance in their relationship – assuming they managed to finish this mission safely, that is. 

A familiar set of footsteps creaked along the floorboards behind her, and she tilted her head just enough to glimpse Fitz sliding his leather jacket on as he approached. Jemma turned to look out at the endless swath of fields beyond the yard, and he carefully wrapped his arms around her waist, as if he was worried she’d shy away. It was more hesitant a movement, even, than those of their first few weeks undercover in Atlanta, when everything they did was doubled-up for show.

“How’re you doing?” He murmured this into her ear, dropping light kisses along her cheek as she half-turned to him, and suddenly she felt desperately homesick for the Playground. Things had been so easy between them there, when they were safe and working, and didn’t have to worry about shifting into character at any moment.

Reaching down to wrap her fingers around his wrist, Jemma leaned back into Fitz and sighed. “As well as can be expected. Better with you.” His lips curved up against her skin where he was leaning against her, and she let a small smile answer back, even if he couldn’t fully see her face. “Skye seems to be doing fairly well. Clear of infection again this morning –”

“That’s fantastic –”

“But I’m worried we’re going to run out of pain medication in a day or so.”

He exhaled, letting his head dip down. “Shite.”

“Hopefully they’ll arrange the deal soon.” Twisting around, she made sure that neither of the Wellers or any of their subordinates were nearby and then leaned up to whisper directly into Fitz’s ear. “No word yet from the Playground, but she thinks they’re getting her messages.” 

Unfortunately, the only internet connection they could find that let Skye to work in the private of the bedroom was dial-up (and Fitz had needed to do a little re-wiring to get that to work), which didn’t allow for ninety-five percent of the magic that she usually worked at the Base or on the Bus. Part of Ethan’s caveat for allowing Ward and Fitz to stay was that they hand over any additional electronics (not that Ward had any), which meant that she couldn’t even use the cellular network to get a faster connection. Luckily, no one had noticed the missing laptop – but Jemma wasn’t sure how long that would last. Skye had managed to find a simple back channel through which she was able to provide SHIELD with basic information about what they were planning, to request back up for whenever the deal went down, and to urge them to look for Shawn. Out of the half-dozen messages that she’d sent, she received one confirmation ping back, which seemed to be enough to satisfy her that the connection was working. Jemma was more skeptical, but she would take what she could get at this point.

“Good,” Fitz murmured, squeezing her waist before stepping away. “Thought I’d go see what they were up to. Come with me?” He held one hand out and she nodded, tangling their fingers loosely together.

Most of the house’s half-dozen other occupants were on a supply run, and the boards creaked loudly under their boots in the silence as they rounded the staircase. Ward sat underneath the archway that divided the living room from the hallway, legs stretched out in front of him as he kept an eye on Skye’s room. After being scared half to death by him in the middle of the night on her way to the toilet (and nearly toppling over on her cobbled-together crutch), Skye had insisted that he took his watch shifts from further away. As they approached, he gave them a half smile, and Jemma flinched, turning her head quickly away. For hours on the day he’d first arrived Jemma had sat next to a sleeping Skye and held her hand, promising silently over and over again that she’d never, ever let this monster near her friend. She didn’t see Fitz’s reaction as they passed Ward by, but he squeezed her hand a little more tightly. 

When they entered the dilapidated living room, Jemma immediately honed in on the way Georgie was hunched in front of the gigantic, ancient computer, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. A rudimentary messaging system was visible on the screen, and Jemma frowned, dropping Fitz’s hand and heading straight over to the desk.

“Georgie? Is everything... are you okay?”

The older woman jumped, hitting a key to exit the screen and pressing a hand to her chest as she turned away from the desk. “Fuck, Harker, you scared the shit outta me.” Her eyes were red-rimmed, a large amount of mussed concealer poorly hiding the dark circles underneath. The smile she gave them, however, was wide and – unless Jemma had gotten very poor at reading her – genuine.

“What’s going on?” Fitz strode up alongside Jemma, having hunched over into his undercover persona’s defiant stance.

“Good news,” Georgie said, hand trembling slightly as she grabbed her cell phone from the table. “We’re makin’ the swap – the transfer day after tomorrow. Ethan won’t be thrilled, but I say we take what we can get.”

Watching Georgie type out a text message – presumably to Ethan – Jemma let out a derisive snort. “Well, I’m not thrilled either. I just want to get out of this bloody place,” she muttered, giving Fitz a carefully exasperated look. “I miss my clothes.” It was more the kind of thing that her character would say than Jemma herself, but she certainly felt similarly. By this point, she’d washed her bra and underwear so many times that she couldn’t wait to just throw both away; the saving grace was that one of the Wellers’ cronies was about Jemma’s size, so she’d taken a few of the woman’s shirts for her and Skye to share.

“They cleared you to be there, Harker,” Georgie said, halting mid-type as tires crunched over the gravel driveway. “But not Fitzgerald. Said it’s getting too crowded.” 

“Bullshit,” Fitz shot back, hands moving instinctively up to his hips. “She’s not going without me.”

“Oh, I’m not, am I?” Jemma stared over at him, eyebrows raised in incredulity.

“Don’t be ridiculous –”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Fitz,” she exclaimed, seriously annoyed by his tone. “If that’s the best way for us to get the  _money_ ,” she said pointedly, “then I’ll go by myself. I’ll be with Georgie and Ethan, anyway –”

“Oh like that’s a guarantee –”

“There’s nothin’ t’ be said, Fitzgerald, they were real clear that they wanted the gal thief and not the guy.”

Jemma snapped her head around in unison with Fitz to stare at Georgie, who winced faintly. “You told them who we are?”

Georgie shrugged, slipping her phone into her pocket just as Ethan came stomping through the door. “Had to. They don’t like surprises.”

“We’re stuck here for a whole fucking day?” Tossing his coat onto an empty chair, Ethan kicked the coffee table and then collapsed onto the sofa.

As Georgie recounted what she’d just told them, Jemma gave Fitz a surreptitious, worried glance. Odds were that Georgie had told Hydra about the Married Marksmen, whose pictures had mysteriously disappeared from all electronic databases and newspapers about eight months ago, so it was likely that their real identities were still unknown. But there was always the chance that Quinn had told someone else about the two renegades that he’d been on his way to collect, or that old communiqués from Charlie Weller were still floating around the Hydra filing cabinets somewhere. Jemma had been living in fear that their covers would get blown since the second she’d been brought to this house, and this new piece of information made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

“I could go.” Everyone in the room turned to stare at Ward, who remained seated by the entrance, arms crossed in a deceptively relaxed pose. “You said earlier it was going to be you two, Harker –” Jemma did a minute double take at that, not sure if he’d ever used her undercover name before. “– and Tweedledum over here,” Ward finished, waving his hand at Kane as he entered with a cold Pepsi.

“Hey, fuck you, man,” Kane answered, lumbering over to the corner armchair.

“Shut up,” Ethan snapped, keeping his eyes fixated on Ward.

“Hydra might not believe you’d brought Fitzy as muscle, but they’d believe me.” With a wry smile, he spread his hands wide, as if to indicate his stature. “It’s why I’m here.” 

“Fuck that.” Fitz turned back to Jemma, shaking his head. “Like hell I’m going to let you go –”

“ _Let_  me go?!” Jemma glared at him, fingernails cutting into her palms, fairly certain that this was coming from him and not from his cover identity.

“Argue on your own fucking time,” Ethan cut in, toeing off his boots and popping the cap off a beer bottle. “New guy, you’re in. Kane’ll drive and watch the van instead.” 

“No way, I’m not –”

“ _Fitz_.” Jemma used her most dangerous tone, which got him to rotate on the spot again and meet her eyes. “We can discuss your objections later. But for now, that’s the plan. Okay?” She knew he was going to object to Ward not being under his constant supervision, and most likely to her being left alone to be guarded by him, but in a room occupied by Wellers was not the time for that argument.

His jaw clenched as he held her gaze, and he let out a sharp noise of frustration. “Fine. Later, then.”

“Good. Now get the fuck outta my sight,” groused Ethan, stretching out on the couch with his beer in hand as he fumbled for the television remote.

Rolling her eyes, Jemma strode towards the hallway, slowing as Ward made a subtle gesture for her to come towards him. Once she stood by him, he waited for Fitz to draw even with her before giving them a small smile. “I was just thinking – I never got to say congratulations, you know. To you two. For....” He waved vaguely between them.

Fitz glanced over at Jemma and shrugged, his eyes guarded as he studied the other man. “Thanks. I guess.” 

“Took you long enough,” he said, clearly trying to drum up some of the camaraderie that had existed between them once. “Didn’t take a genius to see the way you looked at her.”

Generally, Jemma didn’t consider herself a violent person. Rational thought and logic almost always won out in her mind as the solution for any conflict. But something about the way that he said that made her see red for the second time in as many days. “Relationships aren’t that simple,” she snapped, feeling her cheeks burn as they both turned to her.

Their former friend shrugged, and tilted his head down the hallway. “Believe me when I say I know that.” 

“Yeah, well, telling each other the truth tends to help with that,” Fitz retorted, turning his head sharply when Ethan snorted in laughter from the other side of the room. “What?”

“Nothin’.”

“No, clearly you had something to add,” Fitz said, cheeks pinking in anger or annoyance, “so what?”

Ethan glanced between him and Jemma, whose mouth felt abruptly ashy. “You’re one to talk and all, about tellin’ each other the truth.”

“What the fuck’s that supposed to mean?” 

Bile rose to the back of Jemma’s throat as she watched Ethan sip his beer, eyeing her over the rim, and she was thrown instantly back into a night whose memory she’d buried so deeply that she hadn’t even been able to guard against him bringing it up. 

“Ask your wife,” Ethan answered smoothly, shifting back to watch the toothpaste commercial playing shrilly in the background.

“I need some air,” she muttered, choking back panic as she darted out of the room.

“Jemma –” She could hear Fitz’s boot steps in the hallway after her but she didn’t slow, needing suddenly to be out of the house as quickly as possible, the eggshell-blue, peeling paint feeling like it would rise up and suffocate her.

The wind was sharp against her face as she flew off the porch stairs onto the brittle brown grass, and she realized that she hadn’t thought to grab a coat. One of the Wellers’ sentries eyed her progress through the yard warily, and she waved them off, having no intention of trying to run away at this point. Escape was far beyond her now. 

“Hey! Jemma,” Fitz said, grabbing her elbow when he caught up to her. “What was he talking about?”

“Nothing, Fitz, it doesn’t matter –”

“Bollocks, it clearly matters to you, so it’s not nothing.” His eyes bored into hers, the cloud-covered sky washing his irises into grey, and Jemma fought against the urge to run again. She had the vague memory that she’d said something similar to him once, but couldn’t quite grasp the day or the subject. 

“I can’t tell you –” 

“Jemma –”

“You’ll hate me,” she whispered, voice breaking into a choked sob. “You’ll hate me, Fitz, and I can’t bear that.” 

He studied the expression on her face as he slid his hands up around both of her arms, not strong enough to hold her there but enough to show her that he wasn’t letting go. “I could never –” 

“Yes, you could –”

“You know the worst of me,” he said quietly, shifting down to meet the gaze she’d averted. “You were by my side for most of it. Please, Jemma.”

They’d talked about it in the months since returning from Atlanta, which day during the mission they each thought their darkest. It was part of the healing process, according to SHIELD guidelines, for returning from undercover – sharing a worst memory with someone you love. Fitz had named the night he had to beat a man nearly to death, and he’d thought hers was when she’d had to let a murderer live. Nausea had made her head swim when she’d thought of correcting him and, ultimately, she hadn’t been able to tell him that another day entirely gave her more nightmares. A day she was still terrified to talk about, in case he couldn’t ever see her the same way he did now. Or had done, until five minutes ago. 

“Tell me what’s going on.”

Jemma closed her eyes, focusing on the warmth radiating out from his grip on her shoulders, and prayed (for the first time in not-quite two decades) that she wasn’t about to make an irreversible mistake. Losing Fitz had terrified her ever since the day she’d had to jump out of a plane to save her team members’ lives, terrified of losing him to aliens, to enemies, to Hydra. But losing him, his trust and his heart, because of her own actions would be a nightmare made real.

 

\------

 

_Mission: One-Hundred Third Day_

 

Having someone observe her as she worked made Jemma nervous even when she wasn’t trying to juggle both her undercover identity and dumb down her medical knowledge at the same time, so she was feeling especially on edge tonight. The brother of an important ally for the Wellers had been shot during an ill-conceived negotiation, and said ally was now watching her work in a Boarding House room. Ethan had procured enough morphine to knock the gunshot victim out and then left to find Charlie, leaving her alone with two strange men. Not that this was of particular concern to her at this moment, because all of her attention was currently focused on not having the right supplies to save her patient – or an appropriately educated assistant. Even Fitz couldn’t help her here, as that would risk him breaking cover.

When Charlie finally appeared to offer his good wishes to the oily man who’d been staring at Jemma’s arse rather than watching his brother, she pulled Charlie into the hallway and tried to convince him to have someone take the man to the hospital.

He just grinned and popped a toothpick back in his mouth. “Naw, I think he’s just fine here.”

“But I can’t do this – I’m not a real doctor, or a nurse like my mum, and I don’t have –”

Charlie shushed her increasingly panicked warnings. “That’s the general idea, sweetheart.” 

Cold slithered through her chest and she inhaled. “You don’t want me to save him.”

Humming in agreement, Charlie hunted through his pockets before replying, letting out a small grunt of displeasure when he couldn’t locate whatever it was. Ethan strode past them and into the room, clapping his father on the shoulder as he went.

“Let’s just say,” Charlie finally continued, words mumbled slightly over the toothpick, “that it’s in our interests to see where the lord takes him. If God calls him home, well – who’m I to argue with that?” He made to amble down the hall, but turned a piercing glance on her first. “D’you have a problem with that, Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

Her pulse thudded angrily in her ears, but she managed to eke out a convincing shrug nonetheless. “He’s not  _my_  brother,” she answered, “and it’s Harker-Fitzgerald.”

Charlie chuckled as he turned towards the stairs. “Sure thing, darlin’.” 

Once he was gone, Jemma squeezed her eyes closed and counted to ten, trying to force breaths back into her body as she told herself that she had no choice but to let this stranger die. She rationalized that he was a criminal, and, judging by the company he kept, was probably a very bad person. Besides, if she didn’t allow this to happen they would certainly kill Fitz. And her, most likely, but that was her second thought, not her first. Reminding herself that her best friend’s life was at stake helped to firm her resolve, so, once she’d calmed down and breathed back into the persona of Jemma Harker, she returned to the suffocating side room.

Ethan was stretched out in a corner of the room to watch her, probably already three sheets to the wind but still deadly if need be. While the blood and life drained slowly out of the man on the rollaway bed, Jemma fiddled around with medical supplies and tried to look like she was searching for a solution. A solution that she played through in her head over and over again, knowing she’d be able to save him easily if she were in a hospital. After a while, the brother disappeared – most likely to spend a fair amount of money upstairs while his sibling lay on an ancient cot, covered with insufficient bandages and smelling of rancid flesh.

It took him two hours to die, heralded by one last, strangled gasp, and Jemma had to fight against the wave of illness that washed through her.

“It’s finished?” Ethan slurred, stretching in his chair with surprising grace. 

“Yes,” Jemma replied flatly as she double-checked the corpse’s vitals. “You can go report to Charlie.”

He gave her a wobbly salute and rocked forward onto his feet. “Atta girl. You can leave ‘im here, we’ll deal with it when his brother’s sober ‘nuff to walk home.” Studying the hollowness of her expression, he gave her a predatory grin. “Lots to tell your husband.”

She couldn’t help the low noise of incredulity she let out at that but managed to keep herself from saying anything else, and Ethan slunk away soon after, lacking the reaction he’d clearly hoped to provoke. Another twenty minutes of clean up passed before she could throw away her latex gloves and trek upstairs to her and Fitz’s apartment. As Jemma stood in front of the door, tears threatening to leak through, she swore to herself that she’d never tell Fitz what she’d just done. For the entire time that she’d been trapped in that sick room, she’d pictured the horror on his face over and over again in her mind like some sort of sick slideshow, knowing that she’d never be the same to him if she told the truth. Fear of the way he would look at her if she ever did made her nauseous, the terror of watching herself transform in front of his eyes into someone cold and cruel too potent to risk.

Almost dizzy with self-loathing, she opened the door with a smile, eyes searching out Fitz where he sat on the couch. He’d obviously been home for a while, his jacket slung over the back of its usual chair and a copy of Scientific American open in his lap. (They snuck in a couple scientific journals and magazines every so often, making sure to conceal them first and burn them after. Little cheats like that kept the scientific yearning at bay well enough.) 

Upon seeing her, he closed the magazine and his face lit up with that new, undercover smile that made her stomach flutter. “Hey,” he said softly, standing as she bolted the door, “how’d it go tonight? Heard it was a bad one. I, uh, wanted to come down but Charlie wouldn’t....”

“He didn’t make it,” she answered, voice flat and hands trembling in her pockets.

Fitz’s face fell as he registered her words, studying her for a moment before striding over to wrap her up in his arms. “Oh, Jemma,” he murmured into her hair. “It’s not your fault.” When she didn’t answer, he pressed his lips to her temple, her cheek, her forehead, his attention making her feel both achingly sad and yet calmer.

 _But it_ is _my fault. I’m a murderer, Fitz – would you still kiss me if you knew?_

Leaning back, Jemma met his eyes, taking in the discomfited twist to his mouth and tilting her head into the hand he raised to her cheek. She wanted to forget the whole night, to pretend that none of it had ever happened, to lose herself in something familiar and all-consuming, and there was only one thing she could think of that would let her do so. So she stretched up and kissed Fitz, slanting his mouth open as her hand slid down to cup him through his jeans. He made a strangled sort of noise in the back of his throat at the pressure of her hand as it rubbed over the rough material. The way he swelled underneath her attention, hips twitching into her touch, was addictive, his desire almost instantly focused entirely on her. If control of her own life was slipping away from her while undercover, at least she could do this, could lose herself in her best friend as much as she made him lose himself in her.

As she unzipped his jeans, he pulled away from her kiss to breathe. But even that caught almost instantly when she slid her hand into his boxers and grasped his now-hard cock with her bare hand, and he let out a low, breathy groan. Caught completely off-guard, he leaned forward against her, head bowed over her shoulder and hands resting limply against her waist as she stroked him. 

“ _Christ_ , Jemma,” he moaned into her hair as she tightened her grip just enough to drive him absolutely crazy. “What’s gotten  _into_  you?” In the last twenty seconds, his voice had dropped at least two octaves and his brogue had thickened; she’d noticed that he’d been (successfully) using his voice against her in bed, but this seemed entirely unintentional, as if her abrupt instigation had roughened out his self-trained edges.

“Nothing,” she said, halting her motions to raise both hands to his face and bring his mouth back to hers. “Yet.” Not noticing the word she’d added against his lips, he released a low whine at the loss of her touch.

But she had other plans, continuing to kiss him messily as she grabbed onto his shirt and walked backwards to draw him against the wall with her. Once she was trapped between him and the wall, she reached into his back pocket to fish out his wallet and then the condom that she’d stashed there a couple weeks ago. Tossing the wallet away and releasing his lips, she held the packet between them with her two forefingers, waiting for his distracted brain to catch up. Fitz’s eyes were dark and unfocused, and he stared down at her hand for a few seconds before returning his gaze to her.

“Here,” she breathed, ignoring any possibility that he would say no and not really caring for the moment about what sleeping together was doing to their friendship. 

Silence strung out between them as he processed her words, and then he was suddenly everywhere, hands tugging her blouse over her head and lips attaching to her collarbone, sucking up what would be an impressive lovebite in the morning. He was mirroring the frantic desire she felt, either subconsciously or not, and his nips hurt a little more than usual as he let his mouth wander over to her shoulder – but that’s exactly what she wanted. She’d let someone die under her watch tonight, and having Fitz leave small marks across her skin helped keep her grounded, remind her of where she was, who she was with, and that he would never know the truth.

In the midst of her mind wandering, he unzipped and pulled her skinny jeans and underwear down, kneeling at her feet as she kicked them fully off. As she was still regaining her balance he used both hands to part her thighs, and then his mouth was on her, right there, while she was standing, and she almost toppled over from the dart of pure pleasure that shot through every one of her nerves. The moan that fell off of her lips was obscene, her hands grabbing desperately onto his shoulders to keep herself from falling over. 

“ _Oh_ , Fiiiitz –” Her voice was barely recognizable to her own ears, soft and desperate, and his fingers flexed against the tense muscles of her thighs at the sound. He adjusted the angle of her hips so he had even better access, and she allowed the wall to take most of her weight, his mouth making her feel like she was floating. His tongue stroked repeatedly over her clit, ignoring her other erogenous zones, and he stared up at her with an expression that was almost a challenge. As if he was paying her back for surprising him, although she couldn’t possibly imagine him thinking that her prior actions were at all comparable to what he was doing right now, making her lightheaded with the wet warmth of his mouth. She’d never be able to say no to letting him take her apart like this, she was sure of that, every flick of his tongue winding her up so tightly that she felt like she’d fly over the edge at any second. Her head fell back against the wall, giving into his touch completely.

Just as she gave in to the instinctive movement of her hips, rocking forward to meet his tongue, he pulled back and stood, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and quickly sheathing himself in the condom that he’d plucked from her fingers. Letting out a brief whimper at the removal of his tongue, Jemma was almost surprised she stayed standing without his support since her legs felt like jelly and her center now felt woefully bereft of his touch. But once he’d shucked off his own jeans, Fitz hoisted her up so that their hips were at level and she could wrap her legs around his waist. If she hadn’t been so distracted, she’d have grinned at the way he knew exactly what she wanted without asking; they’d never done this before, but, right now, she ached for it.

Pressing her against the wall, he licked his lips, inhaling as he glanced down between them. “Now?”

“Please,” Jemma breathed, a distant part of her wondering when she’d become so shameless about her desire for him. But she didn’t wonder for long, because at her word Fitz found the right angle and pushed in, sliding perfectly over the nerve-dense skin of her entrance and yet satisfying nothing. His hands shifted to support her arse as he found their rhythm, holding her weight and thrusting firmly into her, small groans escaping his throat at every stroke. 

She helped support some of her weight by hooking one arm around his shoulder, but her other pressed blindly against the wall, seeking but not finding some sort of anchor. Then she realized why she’d wanted this, where the image had come from. It had been weeks ago, long before they’d slept together, when they’d entered the shadowed hallway in the back of the Boarding House and stumbled across Georgie and Shawn just like this, her pale legs standing out against his darker skin as he thrust wildly into her. Jemma hadn’t been able to get the image out of her head for days, shifting uncomfortably on the other side of the bed from Fitz as she’d tried to figure out when she’d be able to get rid of those pesky desires.

But now Fitz was pumping into her in just that same way, somehow supporting her weight against the wall while finding just the right angle to make sparks shoot through her nervous system. His heavy pants washed over her cheek where they were pressed together and she could feel his expression twist every time her hips rocked forward to meet his, speeding up in response. 

Jemma found herself moaning words to him, tilting her head to see the shifting signs of pleasure twist and dance over his ever-expressive face. Words she didn’t remember saying to anyone else like this, strings of nonsense, anything that flitted through her head, and he responded in kind, voice rumbling out of his throat. She could barely understand what he was saying, her whole mind focused on the pleasure darting out from where – God, from where he was fucking her. That’s what they were doing right now, she realized, whimpering as he tightened his grip on her arse, and she spread her thighs apart as wide as she could while still supporting her weight around his waist, digging her heels into his skin. Her best friend was fucking her against the wall of their apartment, and  _she liked it_. 

Fitz shifted the angle of his thrusts, using his hands to adjust how she was pressed against him, and her vision blanked out as his cock rubbed against her G-spot at the same time that he pressed against her clit. Her moan broke into a helpless gasp, and he sped up, stroking into that same angle over and over again, having read the blind pleasure on her face every time he did so. Foreshocks began to roll through her and it was all she could do to hold onto his shoulders, her eyes rolling back as her body took over whatever rational thought was left. It was over in seconds after that for her, her climax pulsing out in strong waves from where he continued thrusting and all her limbs clung as tightly to him as possible. The moan she released was high-pitched and long, hitching at each of his continued strokes as he drew out her orgasm for longer than she’d once thought possible. 

Eventually, as she faded into the aftermath, he slowed to a measured grind within her, either to let her come down properly or in an attempt to catch his breath. But all that did was make her whimper at the feeling of him filling her so well, her skin hypersensitive and arousal just ratcheting back up. Rather than wait to fully recover, she dropped her head down to lick and suck up a lovebite at the join of his neck and shoulder, pausing only to gasp into his ear: “More, Fitz.” 

He shivered as her breath washed over his damp skin, grip faltering slightly as he leaned back to search her eyes, looking for something that Jemma didn’t understand but wanted to give him. Right now, she’d give him anything he asked, because something was shifting between them even if she didn’t know what, and she couldn’t tell him a truth that would make him hate her, but she needed to stay in his arms. Needed to keep pretending that nothing else mattered other than being together. So if he’d asked for something, she’d give it to him – anything but the truth.

Fitz looked like he was fighting with himself, wanting to say something but unable to find the words, and normally she might ask but she wasn’t ready to give up this heat between them yet. After a moment, she tightened impatiently around him, and his eyes widened and jaw dropped down, a low noise escaping his throat.

“Oh God,  _Jemma_ ,” he groaned, gaze edging into something a little wild and completely fascinating. 

Leaning in, he started on an intentionally measured rhythm, keeping their faces level and his thrusts slow and deliberate, as if he’d heard her previous thoughts and was trying to rub against every centimeter of her nerve-rich skin. She gasped, head dropping back as her body undulated to meet his the best that she could in this position, addicted to the way he made her feel. A part of her desperately wanted to know what he was thinking as he moved inside her, but most of her was still captivated by the high he was drawing out stroke by stroke. Fitz’s eyes burned into Jemma’s, their lips just barely brushing together as they both panted from desire and exertion, and she slid one hand up into his curls, pressing them as close together as they could possibly be. Gasps and moans filled the air between them as they watched each other, breaths mingling and pulses racing, and, for a while, it almost felt like forgetting.


	8. Like You Do (What're You Waiting For?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the content warnings for this chapter in particular.

_Mission: One Hundred-Sixth Day (Part 1)_

 

Jemma’s fingers curled tightly into her palms, knuckles pressed against the sill and condensation from her breath fogging the glass. Not that she could see out of the window or anything else anyway, her eyes squeezed tightly shut and lips parted as every one of her nerves focused on the way Fitz was thrusting wildly into her, exactly as she’d asked. That was when she’d had to close her eyes, at the look on his face as she told him what she wanted, feeling his full-body shiver through where his sweat-slick chest was pressed against her back. He’d stared at her in the reflection of the window as he held the head of his cock against her entrance, waiting for her impatient whimper before making the first push into her body, slow and intense. She’d had to shut her eyes, a moan stuttering out of her throat as she thought that, one of these days, he was going be able to make her come just by looking at her that way.

The only noises in the apartment were the vague rumble of gambling and merriment from next door, the slick and slap of his skin against hers, and their reactions to each other – low, almost primal, and incredibly erotic. Something about the pants of breath Fitz released against her neck in time with his thrusts, just barely tinged with sound, was driving Jemma absolutely out of her mind. She slid her feet a little further apart, raising up onto her tiptoes to improve the angle, and he groaned, the vibrations reverberating against her skin and triggering another whimper of her own. The urge to see him took her over again, and she risked sliding her eyes open halfway to peek at the reflection in the grimy window; he was only visible from the waist up, but that was more than enough. Unaware of her gaze, Fitz was staring down at where they were joined, a moan rasping through his full, flushed lips as he kept moving within her, and he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. Watching him be more turned on by what he was doing to her only ratcheted up her arousal, causing her to breath to hitch and bringing his gaze back to meet hers in the window.

Although religion had never spoken to her, she had the sudden thought that this was the definition of sinful, the way his cock drove deeply into her body and stroked against every sensitive spot he could reach. Which seemed to be every one that she had, each thrust bringing a new flare of pleasure. His fingers gripped her hips hard to keep her positioned just so, and Jemma heard herself gasping out encouragements, although she forgot each as she said it, the coil of lust tightening inside her becoming all-consuming.

Fitz leaned forward and sucked at the join of her neck, inching her that much closer to her release with his teeth and tongue and the way his hips snapped sharply against her arse. She let out a soft cry as his cock stroked against her G-spot again, and thanked everything that was holy that she’d chosen to marry someone so bloody good at this. 

Her brain stuttered to a stop, arousal abruptly clearing from her mind. They were not married. This was not her husband who was taking her from behind in a way that, _God_ , she’d never known she’d want so much, but Fitz, Leopold Fitz, her best friend and lab partner of the past decade. They were not doing this for them, but because they needed to prove to the hoodlums next door that their relationship was real. And, most of all, she was _not_ Jemma Harker, adrenaline-junkie and avowed criminal – she was Jemma Simmons, genius and biochemist, and for more than a few minutes she’d completely forgotten that. Cold slithered through her chest to settle in her stomach, and she sucked in a shaky breath.

“Stop, stop,” she said, voice sharp as she reached around to grab one of Fitz’s wrists. Clearly hearing the slightly panicked undertone to her words, he stilled instantly, fingers loosening, and he let out an involuntary groan at their separation as she pulled away and turned, leaning back against the window-wall and covering her face with her hands. Had that really just happened? Had she just forgotten the entire foundation of her identity because her – her _best friend_ was earth-shatteringly good at taking her apart?

Unable to stop herself, she started mentally scrolling through all the times she’d enjoyed herself while undercover for the past three months, and her chest tightened at the thought that it had been far more times than it should be. _Of course_ , a small voice in the back of her head pointed out, _that’s also because you’ve been with Fitz every hour of every day_. That wasn’t precisely true, because they both had their respective undercover duties to which they attended, but it was true for every moment she’d just remembered. The way he made her laugh and calmed her down even when they’d just done something that would’ve been unthinkable for them a year ago. The way his smile had shifted the longer they’d been undercover, as he got better and better at pretending to be a husband in love. The way he was so attuned to her thoughts and concerns, even while she was sure he had enough worries of his own these days, working to get close to truly cruel people.

Something specific about her feelings for Fitz was shifting, or had shifted, and she didn’t know what had happened. Without her notice, she’d gone from genuinely believing that sex wouldn’t change their friendship to everything having already changed, and it was maddening, and confusing, and Jemma had no idea how to deal with it. All that she knew was that she simply couldn’t tell him – mostly because she didn’t know what she would’ve told him if she did.

“J-Jemma...?” Her eyes snapped open at the way his voice shook, as if he was trying not to cry. Fitz was carefully holding himself about a foot away from her, eyes wide in terror and his breath coming short. “What happened? Did I –” His voice broke, and he paused so that he could get out the rest of the sentence. “Did I hurt you? Please, Jemma, _God_ , I never meant to hurt –”

“No!” Her voice was loud, drowning out the rest of his unnecessary apology. “No, Fitz, you didn’t hurt me – you couldn’t.” He studied her face, not believing her words, so she pulled him against herself, wrapping her arms around his neck and tilting her cheek against his. “I swear, Fitz, you _did. Not. Hurt me_.”

Fitz let out a shaky breath against her ear, arms curling tightly around her. “Thank _God_ , oh thank God. Christ, Jemma you scared me –” 

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, raining kisses against his cheek and up to his temple. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to....”

“What happened?” That same sliver of confusion turned over in her stomach, and she slid back onto her feet, eyes darting away from his. He noted her reaction, studying her like she was a drone that he could disassemble if he just stared hard enough. “Was that... not good?”

Jemma let out a small laugh at the ridiculousness of that statement, remembering just how close she’d been to possibly the best orgasm of her life before her brain had stumbled headfirst into an existential crisis. “Fitz, believe me when I say that _that_ was not what went wrong. That was... fuck, just really bloody excellent.” 

A smile teased at his lips, but was taken over quickly by a frown. “But... then what...?” 

Exhaling, she tugged one of his hands up to twist her fingers with his, holding his hand tightly against her bare chest. “I... it’s going to sound ridiculous out loud –” 

“Tell me, Jemma,” he said, voice firm in a way that really shouldn’t make her shiver the way it did. “Remember our rule? Honesty’s how we’re going to get through this. Together.”

She sighed again, and met his eyes, cobalt shimmering in the streetlight. If she was careful, she could probably tell him the truth without revealing his part in it. _Selective truths_ , May had taught her during their undercover training – she’d just never thought she’d need to use it with Fitz.

“I think – when we were... I forgot who I was. I was thinking _as_ Jemma Harker.” Her voice broke, then, fear and stress and confusion all piling onto her at once, and Fitz reeled her quickly in. 

“Hey, hey, don’t be upset – it’s what you’re supposed to be doing. We agreed on it, remember? Pretend to actually be them when we’re in bed, make it more realistic –” 

“It’s not that,” she interrupted, her voice high and just shy of panic, muffled by the way she’d pressed her face into his neck. “I forgot who I _am_ , Fitz, it wasn’t just... I was _her_ , and not me.” _And I wanted you to be my husband._ She let out a groan of frustration, hugging him more tightly. Maybe if she wished hard enough, these confusing feelings would just disappear – or maybe she could just bury them deeply enough that she stopped thinking about them.

“That’s okay,” he said after a few moments, pulling back to make eye contact and brush a loose strand of hair out of her face. “It’s okay if you forget, ‘cause I’ll remember for you.” He smiled again, that new smile that made something in her chest twist, and when he spoke he quieted his voice even further. (They were far enough away that no one would hear their whispers here, but it never hurt to be cautious.) “You’re Jemma Simmons, and I met you when I was sixteen at the Academy. You’ve always liked examining disgusting things in our lab, and you’re the smartest person I know. If you forget who you are out here, that’s okay, ‘cause I won’t. That’s what I’m here for, yeah?”

Her lips parted and she willed away the lump that caught at the back of her throat. It would never cease to stun her when he said things like that – the thing that she didn’t know was exactly what she needed to hear. That familiar push of warmth filled her entire body, at once electrifying and calming, the same one that she’d felt the morning after their first time when he’d handed her the toothbrush. That thought made her chest twist in confusion, though, so she pressed her face back into his neck, willing herself to listen to his words. Maybe if Jemma could ignore herself and focus on Fitz, on the warmth of his skin and the gentle way his hands smoothed along her back, then the panic would fade away.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Seven (Part 2)_

 

The low swing on which Jemma now sat creaked in the wind, and she stared tearfully down at the ground, digging the toe of her boot into the cracked earth. Fitz stood in front of her, arms crossed, having waited patiently for her to tell the story of her darkest night. His eyes had widened ever so slightly as she prompted his memory of what had transpired between them after she’d returned from the room downstairs, but she hadn’t been able to look at him directly as she explained what she’d done just prior. As she told him about the man whose life she’d chosen not to save.

Still avoiding his gaze, she tilted her head up to see the fast-moving clouds above them, lips quirking slightly upward at one’s resemblance to an elephant, puffy trunk stretching out through a glimpse of dull blue. A shiver ran through her and she gripped the sleeves of his leather jacket more tightly; he’d insisted she wear it while they talked, since she’d refused to go inside to fetch her own, and ultimately she was grateful for it. As much as she was terrified to see the way he was looking at her now, wearing his jacket felt like she was surrounded by him, by his warmth, his faint scent of cinnamon and motor oil (the last specific to his jacket, or whenever he worked on Betsy).

Her eyes still following the clouds, she realized that what had once been an elephant had transformed as she stared into a rotund house, something completely different, even though she hadn’t moved her gaze. Looking at it now, grey overtaking white, it was hard to imagine the cloud ever having looked like an elephant at all.

Movement caught her eye, and shortly Fitz was kneeling before her, wrapping her chilled hands in his own. “Jemma,” he murmured, “why’d you think that would make me hate you?”

Briefly meeting his eyes, she blinked back more tears. “It’s a violation of everything we stand for, Fitz. Science is sacred, we had that long before we had anything more between us –” 

“But you’re not even a medical doctor, you’ve never taken the Hippocratic oath –”

“I might as well have! It’s our duty to help people, to save them, and I stood there and did _nothing_ –” 

“Yes, you did,” he countered, gaze steadily matching hers. “You were protecting yourself –”

“And you,” she added, reaching out to caress his jaw. “They’d have gone after you right away.” But she exhaled and dropped her eyes again. “But even that was selfish, I think, because I don’t know what I’d do without you.” 

He gave her a sad smile, tugging on her hand. “You know all the reasons why you had to let it happen – we both do. We’ve talked about similar reasons, for me. I’m not thrilled that you only told me when you had to, but... I don’t understand how you could think that would make me _hate_ you.” His expression was so open, eyes searching her own, and his genuine confusion made her chest hurt.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, breath catching on a small sob. A wheedling voice in the back of her head pointed out to her that she was lying again, and she exhaled. “I – I’m sorry, no, I do. I know. I... I feel like you have this sort of image of me in your head, Fitz, of this great fixer, like I’m perfect in your eyes. And I know I tell you I’m not, but I – I know it’s vain, but I don’t want you to stop looking at me like that.” Jemma sniveled, about to drop her gaze again when Fitz did something that shocked her out of her doldrums – he laughed.

“Oh Jemma,” he said, shuffling forward on his knees so that he could wrap his arms around her waist but still see her. “I’ve been your best friend since we were sixteen – I’m well aware that you’re not perfect. And I’m never gonna stop looking at you like you are.” She frowned, letting him smooth a few stray hairs off her forehead, and his lips curved up into the same smile that he’d first worn when they were undercover with the Wellers, the one that she now knew showed just how much he loved her. “I know you’ve got flaws... I mean, you like dissecting things for fun, for God’s sake –” 

“It’s a necessary part of biological science –!” 

“I know,” he chuckled, bringing one of her hands forward so that he could kiss her palm. “And it’s not like I’m perfect either –”

“Wouldn’t have you any other way, poor taste in films and all.” Feeling the tension seep out of her muscles as they spoke, she curled her arms around his shoulders, giggling a little at the miffed little _tsk_ he let out at her crack about his movie preferences.

“The point is,” he said, nudging her slightly as punishment, “that we’re not perfect, neither of us. But I’m pretty sure we go perfectly together.”

A sharp breeze blew over them at that, but she ignored it in favor of focusing on the thrum of her pulse as she stared down at him. Jemma wanted to memorize everything about Fitz in this moment, the way he stared up at her as he kneeled in the dirt, the way his hands fit so comfortably over the flare of her hips, the way his collar flapped just so in the wind, somehow making his scruff seem more pronounced, and the way his eyes danced over her own facial features, seemingly doing the exact same thing that she was. Eventually, she sighed into a small laugh.

“I really am very in love with you, even when you’re being an arse.” His smile morphed quickly into a confused frown, and she slid her thumb over his lips to keep him from protesting. “Not _letting_ me go, Fitz?”

He dropped his gaze, mouth thinning as his fingers flexed against her jeans. “It’s a terrible idea –”

“I don’t think it is, and, anyway, it’s my _choice_ – don’t you see that?” She shook her head again. “And when we get home... you’ll face disciplinary measures, Fitz, for releasing Ward. What if you’re fired? Or arrested? What will we do?”

His eyes crinkled up at the corners and he glanced away, biting his bottom lip to hold back a smile. “I – sorry, I want to be angry, but you said ‘we.’”

“Of course I did,” she replied, brows furrowing. 

“What will ‘ _we’_ do.” 

“Yes, Fitz, I’m aware of what I said –” 

“I forget sometimes,” he murmured, scooting closer still. “That you....” 

“That I love you?” He winced, and she sucked in a shaky breath, refusing to give into the tears that pricked at her eyes.

“That’s not what I was gonna –”

“That’s why I’m so upset with you about releasing Ward,” she interrupted, “because I’m a part of everything you do now. And I want to be, but I just... I don’t understand how you could do something like that, Fitz! Disobey Coulson, break the law....” He looked away from her again, jaw working silently as he eyed the Wellers’ nearby sentinel.

“I’d do anything to save you,” he said, voice flat as if he was reciting a mantra or was tired of repeating himself. 

“Maybe that shouldn’t be your only concern. Maybe you need to think about what I’d want, too.” His eyes met hers, bright and hurt, and she had the sudden, strange urge to take him to bed. God, things were so much simpler between them in bed.

“Hey, Jemma?” Skye called out, standing in the back doorway and teetering a little on her crutch as Jemma broke Fitz’s gaze. “There’s some blood leaking through the bandages.”

“What are you doing standing, then?” She stood up immediately, reaching down for Fitz’s hands to steady and pull him up. “Go lie down! I’ll be right there.” 

Skye rolled her eyes and rotated slowly around. “Yeah, alright, Nurse Harker, I’m going.”

As she and Fitz headed back to the house, Jemma squeezed his hand between hers, feeling even more ill at ease than she had this morning. For all their discussions of truth and her own confession, she couldn’t help the feeling that something unsaid still hovered between them now, and her inability to figure that out was gnawing slowly at her and their relationship.

 

\------

 

_Mission: One-Hundred Sixth Day (Part 2)_

 

Fitz used one hand to tilt her chin up, to meet Jemma’s eyes, searching for her response to his promise. She was struck briefly by how at ease they both seemed with their nudity, him comforting her just as he had always done – but without any clothes on. Considering the perspective that they’d been in the midst of intensely hot sex just a minute ago, that observation was probably ridiculous, but it had struck her nonetheless.

It had been almost too long since his answer for her to say something in response to his promise, but she needed to do something, needed to show him how much he meant to her. Rather than try to verbalize what she was feeling – she didn’t even know herself, or at least she told herself she didn’t – Jemma pulled him flush against herself, wrapping one arm around his neck and the other around his back. Fitz let out a small noise of contentment, molding himself to her as much as possible. Although his hold was completely nonsexual, there was no way to truly ignore how his erection pushed against her skin, hot, hard, and condom still slick from her own arousal.

“Just ignore it,” he murmured into her neck, “doesn’t matter.”

“I’d like to continue,” she said, imitating his low tone, not sure why she felt the need to stay quiet. 

“Don’t be ridiculous.” His voice was firm, and although he didn’t loosen his hold she could feel his muscles tense, as if readying himself to argue. “They’ll assume we’ve finished, they’ve heard enough for one –”

“Not for them, Fitz,” she whispered, turning to catch his eyes. “I mean, yes, that, too, of _course_ , but – to sort of erase that. That fear. Just not, um, here. In the bed.” She exhaled, tossing wayward hair out of her face. The reason for her desire to continue wasn’t clear even to her, except that she wanted to forget that panic, and nothing had made her blank out in recent months as she had during and after sex with Fitz.

He was already shaking his head though, determined to be honorable in his own way. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea, Jemma, after you....”

“You didn’t hurt me, Fitz.” She pulled his hands into hers and stared intently into his eyes. “If you’re still worried about that. You _didn’t_. We’re not dating, right? So I would definitely tell you if you’d done something off. I promise. It had nothing to do with you.” Or, well, it had everything to do with him, but not physically.

When he still looked doubtful, she sighed and pushed away from the wall, intending to pull him into the bedroom. But her legs wobbled, causing her to stumble against him, and without hesitation Fitz swept her up into his arms. Apparently her muscles weren’t yet used to holding that particular position.

Surprised, Jemma gave a shaky laugh. “If that doesn’t prove to you the sex was good, I don’t know what will.”

He shifted her in his arms, a tendon in his neck tightening with the effort of holding all her weight. “Or you need a good night’s rest.”

Letting out a huff of annoyance, Jemma poked his shoulder as he carried her to the bed. “Or I need to exercise more.”

Once he’d set her down on the mattress and she’d taken a moment to stretch out her legs, she gathered his hands into hers from where he was hovering. “If you really don’t want to continue, Fitz, I won’t pressure you to do so,” she said, trying to choose her words carefully as she stared up at him. His face was partially in shadow now, and although that brought out some particularly striking angles in his bone structure it also meant that his eyes were hidden. “But I would like to. Slower, more... more gentle, but, still....” She shook her head, unsure not only of how to convince him but also of how to convince herself that this didn’t mean anything.

Fitz watched her in silence for a few moments, fingers holding tightly onto hers. “I just want to make sure you –” 

“I’m an adult, Fitz. Trust me when I say that I know what I want.” Still unable to see him properly, Jemma tilted her head, wishing she could hear his thoughts. 

“Okay.” His voice had dropped an octave or two, closer to the tone he’d been using earlier, and she smiled as a sliver of excitement overwrote the anxiety she’d felt before. Leaning over her, Fitz slid his lips gently against hers, showing that even if he was reluctant he’d listened to every word she said. “But,” he said, climbing above her and pressing slow kisses along her neck, “you have to let me take care of you, alright?”

Already thoroughly distracted by his breath against her skin, she just hummed in agreement and lay back onto the bed. One elbow braced his weight above her as his other hand began petting the length of her body in a half-massage, and she resisted the urge to hum again. His hand swept down from her shoulder, around the side of her breast to her outer thigh and back up again, his lips teasing at her neck. Her eyes slipped closed, and she couldn’t stop the sigh that escaped, her fear slowly receding as she began to focus on Fitz again, on the texture of his hands – rougher than hers but softer than when he’d been working in the lab every day – as he mapped out the length of her torso. She felt her muscles begin to anticipate where he would touch next, and then she realized that he was actively avoiding anything erogenous, the places on which he usually focused when they went to bed. 

Rolling her eyes, she trapped one hand beneath hers and slid it up to her breast, the nipple already tight under his other ministrations. He chuckled against her skin and leaned up to kiss her, heat and desire finally returning to his actions. 

“Don’t distract me from my plan,” he teased, gliding his lips down along her body. 

Her responding laugh was breathy, and hitched as one hand reached over to still her instinctively shifting hips. “Oh, your – _mmm_ , plan, of course. Any chance you’ll share that with me?” 

Fitz laughed again against her abdomen, moving gradually further down along the bed. “I can, but – don’t you trust me?” His tone was light, but she could hear the slight uncertainty in his tone and saw the same lurking in his eyes as he stared up at her, waiting for an answer. 

She brought her hand down to scratch through his hair, wondering idly how it was possible for one person to be so impossibly caring. “Of course I trust you.”

Relief shone from his face at that, and he nodded, returning to mouth at the skin of her hip. Despite him not answering her question, she had a fairly good idea of what he had in mind, although she was distracted from her prediction when his thumb made a long pass over her clit and down to smooth around the nerve-dense edge of her entrance. A quiet moan worked out of her throat, and she sucked in a breath at the sensation of his lips trailing their way closer to their destination.

She still couldn’t quite let go of the surprise she’d felt that first night so many weeks ago at discovering that Fitz, of all men, was eager to perform oral sex, or that he was so skilled at it. He’d always been so endearingly awkward around women, especially about anything even vaguely related to sex, that it would never have occurred to her to suggest it. But either because he knew how to read her, or because he was naturally dexterous – or both – he’d been really bloody good at it from day one. Since then, he’d been studying her body like any one of his projects, and had managed to figure out ways to please her like neither of her previous boyfriends ever had – and one of those had been a year-long relationship.

Her musings came to an abrupt halt when his lips wrapped around her clit, tongue stroking as he applied pressure, and Jemma cried out, back arching off the bed. The aborted arousal from earlier returned all at once, as if no time had passed, sending her muscles to tightening around nothing. The sensations built rapidly atop each other, his fingers teasing elsewhere as his mouth focused on her center, and she found herself slipping toward the edge without warning, only vaguely aware that she was chanting “yes” over and over in time with his licks. Just as quickly, though, he slid his mouth further down, and she wasn’t proud of the long, keening whine that she released in frustration. This was his current _modus operandi_ for teasing her, start off hot and fast before directing his attention elsewhere, letting her arousal fluctuate until inevitably taking her completely apart. It was unpredictable and deliciously hot, and she felt her skin warm further.

As he licked and teased at her most sensitive skin, her muscles clenched involuntarily around the two fingers that he began stroking slowly within her, and she whimpered at the memory of what it felt like to have him truly filling her. She dropped her head to the side, panting into the sheets to try to get her thoughts under control – she reminded herself that this was _Fitz_ whose cock she was fantasizing about. But all this did was bring back her memories of earlier this evening and ratchet her arousal up that much higher at the memory of him pumping hard and fast into her.

Needing suddenly to ground herself, afraid she was about to slip into the same panicked train of thought that had so rapidly derailed her earlier, Jemma reached down to grab Fitz’s hand where it lay over her lower abdomen, bracing her hips’ movements. He glanced up at her then, curious, and she inhaled sharply at the slight shine of wetness around his lips.

“I just – need this. Okay?” Her voice wasn’t panicked, but it wasn’t quite calm either, although it was probably hard for him to tell if it was arousal or something else. 

Fitz just nodded, twining his fingers with hers and lowering his head back between her thighs. Faint light from the window shone in his fair curls, and she lost her breath again as she watched him, the feeling of him swiping lazy patterns through her folds a stark contrast to the vision of the window-light halo atop his head as he moved between her bent knees. Shadows shifted in the muscles of his shoulders as they worked to support his movements, and she whimpered, letting her head fall back and trying not to think about how she could never have expected that her best friend would present this kind of enticing and erotic picture. She had the fleeting thought that it felt like he was loving her with his mouth, and then quickly suppressed the other confusing thoughts that prompted. 

His hand tightened slightly around hers when he returned to her clit, licks sending bolts of pleasure straight through her and insistently winding up the spring of her climax. Grasping onto his hand as if it was her mooring, louder moans started echoing up from her throat as he added suction and humming to his ministrations. 

“Oh, _God_ , Fitz – I’m gonna – going to –” Jemma’s voice was almost unrecognizable to her ears, a mix of a whimper and a gasp on every word. He only increased the speed and pressure of his movements, and she would’ve sworn that she could feel his lips curve up in a pleased smile just before the wave of her orgasm broke over her, rolling out from his touch. All her limbs trembled, hips bucking upwards to chase the feeling until he gave her one last swipe of his tongue and pulled away, leaving her exhausted and spread-eagled on the mattress.

She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she registered that he’d slid up alongside her on the bed and was pressing gentle kisses to her shoulder and upper arm. A soft smile spread across her face as she noted that he hadn’t broken her hold on his hand, awkward though the angle was now, and she nuzzled down to capture his lips with her own. Scooting up to better reach her mouth, he chuckled at the satisfied hum she made against him. 

“Better?”

Unable to stop the quiet noise of contentment that worked up out of her throat, Jemma smiled as she brushed her nose against his. “Much – but we’re not quite done yet.” Her free hand found its way to Fitz’s erection, fingers tightening and causing him to moan hotly against her mouth, hips twitching towards her grip. 

At some point without her notice, he’d disposed of the condom they’d used earlier; he had clearly expected that she’d give in to his insistence that she rest after he gave her that release. In the back of her head, she tried to figure out why she was so determined to have sex with him tonight – he’d just given her one really fantastic orgasm, after all, so it wasn’t as if she only wanted that climax. It was about comfort, she reasoned – about wanting to feel close to her best friend in a way that they were still exploring together.

“N-no, Jemma,” he groaned, dipping his head down against her shoulder as his hips gave small, aborted rolls forward where she stroked him. “We really d-don’t – not after you – earlier –”

“That’s why I want to, Fitz,” she murmured, seeking out his eyes. “I need to know that we can keep doing... this, our jobs, without that happening. Please.” Deciding to take mercy on him, she removed her hand and his hips stuttered forward again, showing just how thinly his control was spread. He’d been okay earlier, right after their scare, so she guessed that he’d become more turned on while pleasuring her. The thought of him having that reaction to her resulted in her walls clenching slightly in anticipation of relieving both their arousals, and she leaned down to kiss him again, hoping against hope that he wouldn’t refuse her. He didn’t respond at first, but when she slid one hand up along his cheek, tracing the edge of his hairline, he pressed in with sweet, closed-mouth kisses.

After a few moments, he broke away, fingers curling gently into her hair as he pressed their foreheads together. “Promise you’re not just doing this because you – I dunno, you feel bad for stopping, or something. Because I can just take care of it myself, I swear –”

“I promise,” she whispered, sliding her lips against his again. She felt the exact moment his resolve snapped, in the way his fingers dug into the back of her neck as he pushed up over her on the bed, mouth moving more insistently against hers. “You should –” Jemma gasped as he pressed his bare chest against hers, fingers spread wide across her back. “New condom, first.” 

“Fuck, right,” he muttered, dropping a quick kiss to her forehead before rolling off the bed and reaching for her bedside drawer.

As Jemma watched him go through the familiar motions, a smile worked across her face and she wasn’t quite sure why. Her best friend was just putting on a condom, for heaven’s sake, it wasn’t anything particularly special – or even the kind of activity in which _normal_ best friends engaged, for God’s sake. But something about the sight made her just simply, peacefully happy, and she wasn’t sure if it was just Fitz or the anticipation of knowing that soon he’d be inside her again, that she could share that new sense of closeness with him and feel at peace. He scrambled back across the blanket towards her and she exhaled, missing the days when she hadn’t needed to overanalyze every thought and feeling that passed through her head.

Then he was leaning over her again, making her dizzy with his kisses, and she widened her knees to bracket his hips. He molded his body to hers, torso to torso, hips to hips, and she sighed into his mouth, shifting beneath him so that he pressed between her labia.

A shudder rolled through him and he groaned, pulling away from her kiss to lean his temple against her cheek. She’d noticed he often did this before they started, as if centering himself, and she desperately wished he’d tell her (or that she could pluck up the courage to ask) what he was thinking when he did so.

“How do you want....” His voice was low and gentle as he nuzzled against her, and that bloom of warmth spread through her again at his attentiveness.

Wrapping her legs up around his hips, she kissed along his jawline as far as she could reach. “Like this – just like this.” 

Her movements pressed them more tightly together and he inhaled sharply before reaching down to adjust the angle and then sliding in. This first push was deliberate, as if it was their first time again and she hadn’t had sex in over a year, which she found both endearing and frustrating. When he made eye contact, though, searching for acceptance or approval or something else she didn’t quite understand, she bit her lip into a half-smile, tilting her hips up to improve the angle and let him fill those last few centimeters. Fitz let out a surprised, shaky moan, and Jemma felt a familiar shiver roll through her at the sensation of him stretching her ever so slightly, pushing against all those nerve-endings in just the right way. 

Watching her carefully, he started on a slow rhythm, and if she didn’t know him like she did, it would have felt almost leisurely. As if they were actually together and had all the time in the world to make love, fall asleep, and wake up in each other’s arms. But, as with everything in this criminal world of grey, Jemma was acutely aware that nothing was how it seemed, and she tried to ignore the pang she felt at remembering this. His angle shifted, though, and he stroked against a spot that elicited a breathy gasp as she dug her fingers into his back.

When she opened her eyes again, Fitz was still studying her reactions but a smug smile played around his lips now, and she was torn between relief that maybe he believed her at last – and wanting to give as good as she got. They’d always been competitive – they couldn’t help themselves – and that had carried through to sex as well. So on his next thrust Jemma gave a brief twist to her hips and tightened around him, causing him to squeeze his eyes closed and grunt sharply, breath coming out unevenly over her skin as his hips bucked rapidly forward. 

Once he slowed himself back down, he gave her an exasperated headshake. “Jemma....”

His voice had a light note of warning in it, but she just grinned up at him over her slight panting, trying to focus on teasing him while meeting him thrust for thrust. “What?”

Sliding one hand beneath her lower back to press them more tightly together, Fitz let out a small noise of disbelief and ducked down to suckle on her pulse point, which caused her vision to blur out for a few moments. When he’d proven his point, he leaned up to whisper in her ear, his breath causing her already warm skin to heat up further. “If you don’t stop that, I’m not gonna last.”

She gave brief thought to taunting him again, but a greater part of her wanted to stretch this out, to revel in their physical intimacy. So instead, she pressed light kisses to every part of his jaw that she could reach and moved with him into their previous rhythm. “Got a bit carried away.” 

He laughed against her neck, breath coming short and stubble scratching pleasantly against her skin. “Cannot blame you for that, I s’pose.” 

Something about his voice made her want to squeeze her eyes shut and bury her face in his curls, as if to hide from the feelings swelling in her chest. The analytical scientist in her wanted to point out that the feelings weren’t in her chest at all – they’re psychological, of course – but she pushed that aside. Because for all that she knew logically what was happening, could name the processes by which her brain was translating her emotions and returning them in a recognizable language, it all _felt_ very different. 

Jemma could list the physical effects of what they were doing right now, and in fact could explain why the particular shape of his cock leant to it feeling so blindingly _good_ when he thrust within her. Yet, she still couldn’t explain the warmth in her chest when she caught a glimpse of his eyes or heard him moan her name.

But that was a lie, too. She knew.

For all that she had once been terrible at lying, she’d gotten so good at it that now she was even able to fool herself. She’d suspected it weeks ago in their ratty bathroom when he’d handed her that toothbrush, had felt it growing stronger every day they were together here in this godforsaken moral wasteland. He wasn’t just Fitz to her anymore, and it terrified her. The way she wanted to be touching him all the time, the way she liked that he smiled at her differently than he did at everyone else, the way she couldn’t wait for an excuse to turn him on, and the way she wanted to feel him moving inside her, as if for those moments they really were inseparable. Some days, those urges were so strong it scared her, but her only answer was to give into them, to give in to depthless blue eyes and a sweet, crooked smile. And as much as she told herself she didn’t understand – she did. She just wasn’t ready to, yet.

“Hey,” Fitz murmured, brushing her nose with his. Jemma realized that he’d stilled within her and immediately forced a shaky smile onto her face, opening her mouth to tell him to continue when he shushed her. “Listen to me. I promise that I won’t let you forget who you are, okay? I’ll remind you as much as you’d like.” He leant down slightly, which pushed him further in and she bit back a whimper of pleasure at the feeling of his cock resting fully inside her, heat and hardness grinding against her sensitive skin. “You’re Jemma Simmons. You’re a biochemist, and a genius, and my best friend in the whole world. Alright? You’re not gonna lose yourself. I promise.”

Tears pricked the back of her eyes and she pressed their foreheads together. He’d noticed that her mind had wandered – Fitz knew her almost as well as she knew herself, so of course he had. But he’d assumed it was about what she’d told him earlier, and even though he was quite far gone by this point (if the insistent twitching of his muscles at holding himself still was any indication) he’d stopped everything again to reassure her. Yes, Jemma thought to herself – she knew exactly what had changed in how she thought about Fitz. She just had no idea what to do about it.

“Thank you, Fitz,” she whispered, pressing her lips gently against his and willing away the foolish, overly-emotional tears that had threatened moments ago. 

“D’you want to stop?”

“No. Please don’t stop,” she said immediately, barely letting him get the question out before answering. She’d seen the worry behind his eyes as she opened hers again and had known exactly what he was going to ask before he did. Not wanting to lose their momentum, or have any further time to overthink her own feelings, she tightened around him and rocked her hips up, causing his jaw to drop open.

“Ah, _Christ_ , Jemma,” he groaned softly, shifting quickly back into their rhythm. Her mind let go of that worry as friction built between them, small zings of pleasure skittering over her skin as she allowed herself to fall completely into being with Fitz, their hips meeting more roughly, urgently, as their bodies began to take over.

It wasn’t long until his breath was entirely uneven, blue eyes wild as he searched out hers. “Are you – ah, _God_ – are you close?”

The slight note of desperation tingeing his voice was as hot as it was endearing, and she caught his lips for a few slow, heated kisses before answering. “No. It’s okay, Fitz, let go.”

He gave a short, disappointed grunt at her answer, and ducked his head down. Smoothing her hands over his back and rocking her hips up purposefully, Jemma anticipated the uneven rhythm of his release, looking eagerly for the expression on his face that she found so appealing. Instead, however, he reached down to draw her right leg up over his shoulder, and his next thrust made her vision white out. A high, shocked moan escaped her throat and her back arched, unintentionally putting more pressure on her clit as Fitz held her in that perfect position.

“ _Oh God, Fitz! Yes!_ ” She gasped over his heavy breathing, every nerve alight as she bucked instinctively back against him, chasing the tightening pleasure between her legs. Every stroke sent lightning through her, all of her muscles intent on following that rhythm and her eyes focused on his face, wanting to see him react to the way he made her feel. Neither of them was naturally inclined to be loud in bed, she suspected, but they’d adapted through practice, and now Jemma honestly couldn’t imagine not hearing him when they were together like this.

“You like that?” His voice was rough in a way she’d only ever heard here, in their bedroom, and the sound made her whimper as he punctuated the words with firmer thrusts.

She let out another sharp gasp, fingers digging hard into his hips. “Yes, just – _ah,_ oh, _fuck_ – _yes!_ ” The words petered out into indistinct moans as she lost the ability to form anything cognizant, dimly noting the way her noises fed into his. Her muscles began to flutter and she realized that she was stunningly close to coming, and knowing the rapidity with which he’d managed to get her there just brought her that much closer.

Fitz watched her carefully, mouth open and tongue darting out to wet his lips as his strokes increased in strength and speed, low noises of arousal eking out of his throat. The way he fixated on her face made Jemma dizzy, the simultaneous heat and affection in his expression catching her off-guard, and her hips rocked faster back against his, seeking her release as her brows knotted in anticipation.

“That’s my girl,” Fitz muttered, breath washing over her sweat-slicked skin as his free hand gripped her upper thigh. “That’s it, c’mon – come for me.”

She wasn’t sure if it was his tone, rough with desire, or the way he pressed against her clit, or the rapid push and pull of him within her, or the overwhelming feeling that, right now, they were as close as two people could possibly be, but whichever one it was sent her careening over the edge. Her hands grasped his arse to hold him steady within her, and she let out a long, high moan as her body trembled, every nerve focused on the pleasure radiating out from where they were joined.

Fitz could only just hold on as her muscles tightened and released around his cock, pants of desperate arousal skating over her skin, so just as she began to come down he slid back into a fast, seeking rhythm, inching himself closer until Jemma made a purposeful twist of her hips and he broke apart on one, last thrust. Watching him come was exactly what she’d wanted all evening, knowing that she was one of the few people in the world who’d ever made him feel this way. His body shuddered above her as she felt the pulse of his completion within; eyes squeezed shut and jaw working over his moans, his hyperactive mind was focused entirely on how they felt together. The stubble on his jaw just barely caught the window light, and she dropped her head back onto the mattress, torn between post-coital bliss and the new flare of arousal she felt at watching Fitz come undone. There was something powerful in this, being able to make someone so brilliant completely lose himself in feeling, and she tried not to analyze why she liked that sense of control so much.

After a few moments, he let her leg slip down and his body relaxed over hers, allowing much of his weight to press reassuringly against her as he caught his breath. She petted slow, gentle patterns over his back, letting out a sated hum at his warmth and their connection.

“Mmm, sorry....” he murmured against her chest, and began to shift over to remove his weight, but Jemma just tightened her grip around his shoulders.

“Not yet.” Her words were quiet and sure, not ready for their separation even if it was only temporary.

Still shaking slightly from his release, Fitz relaxed further into her hold and sighed. He nuzzled against her breast, breath fanning over the cooling sweat on her skin, and she had the fleeting thought that this was her favorite part of the evening. The way he clung so happily to her as they enjoyed their post-coital haze made her feel like he needed her, even if it wasn’t in quite the same way that she needed him.

“That was fantastic.”

She chuckled, carding her fingers through his hair. “You say that a lot.”

Shrugging as best he could against her, he stretched up to press feather-light kisses along her collarbone. “It’s true a lot.”

Jemma closed her eyes and smiled, shutting out the rest of her thoughts and focusing on the gentle brush of his lips to her skin, on the warmth of his still-noticeable pants, on the way he shivered under the attention of her hands. They didn’t know how long they would be allowed to stay undercover and together like this (or even if they would survive this ordeal at all) and she decided to choose to enjoy every second that they had here together, consequences be damned. So maybe everything had changed for Jemma – perhaps, in the end, change wouldn’t be so terrible if it meant that she could be with Fitz. Tomorrow, or the next day, or the day after that, she’d worry about whether or not he wanted to be with her.


	9. Where the Lights Are Taking Us

_Kidnapping: The Last Day – Day Nine (Part 1)_

 

Dawn broke as Jemma stepped out of the Wellers’ safe house for what would be the second-to-last time. The last time would be when she returned to collect Skye and Fitz, with whatever agents SHIELD hopefully sent to the designated meeting coordinates. In theory, they’d sent a coded confirmation along the hacked channel, but the unpredictability of the dial-up connection and the vagueness of the message had Jemma worried. For his part, Fitz was so tense that she suspected he’d barely slept last night, and he’d rushed out of the house before her, zeroing in on Ethan. 

Sunlight crept over the nearby fields as she stood on the front porch, the amber glow throwing odd, mangled shadows along the winter-dry lawn. Most of the household was out front, checking weaponry or packing up their supplies; they planned on vacating the second that they had their money, so just as much preparation was being made for departure as for the exchange of the 084. The aluminum case stood alone in the center of the walkway, people giving it a wide berth whenever they needed to pass by, and Jemma wondered if she was about to learn what the thing inside could do.

As she set about checking her pistol and putting on Fitz’s Kevlar vest – at his pigheaded insistence – Jemma watched him argue with Ethan, who flatly refused to allow him to come along. Ethan just kept shaking his head, until finally he got fed up, cocking the hammer of his gun and pointing it at Fitz. 

“Back the fuck off, Fitzgerald, or not only will you not be comin’ – you won’t be able to.” 

His eyes hooded in the early morning light, she could just barely see Fitz’s jaw working silently as he stared down the barrel of the gun. Eventually, he raised his hands and Ethan lowered the weapon, turning back to the ammunition he was self-allocating.

“Y’know what, fuck you, Ethan,” Fitz snapped, but the other man just turned and strode across the lawn towards the van. Swearing under his breath, Fitz kicked at the cardboard box Ethan had just emptied, and Jemma’s heart broke a little bit. She recognized the desperation in his voice and hated that she’d put it there – but she wasn’t going to change her mind, either.

Before she could go down to Fitz, however, Ward (who had been suiting up nearby) sidled over. Fitz pointedly didn’t look at the taller man, keeping his head turned in the other direction.

“Look, for what it’s worth,” Jemma could just barely hear Ward say, “I wouldn’t let Skye do something like this, either.” 

Jemma’s jaw clenched as Fitz made a low, disgusted noise, whipping around to take an angry step towards Ward. “Don’t compare your obsession with Skye to my relationship with Jemma. Don’t you dare.”

A flash of real anger passed through Ward’s expression, but he just shrugged, finishing up the last of his Kevlar’s snaps. “I’m just saying that I get it. We’d do anything to keep them safe. No matter what they think.” 

“Oh, fuck you,” escaped Jemma’s lips before she could stop herself, and both men turned to stare up at her. Fitz stepped forward but she just shook her head, too disgusted with their conversation to deal with him just yet, and then strode down the steps to look for extra ammunition. 

Standing near a small pile of ammo boxes was Georgie, who held a cigarette between two shaking fingers. Despite Jemma’s attempts to catch the eldest Weller sibling alone in the past few days, she’d been entirely unsuccessful, always finding her with her brother – or unable to find her at all. Smoke curled in a thin trail above the taller woman’s head, dark against the burnt orange sky, and she glanced down as she spotted Jemma’s approach. 

“Ready for this shitstorm?” Georgie inhaled, flicking embers onto the grass and grinding them into the dirt with her boot. “Too bad we’re outta the good stuff, I could use a stiff drink.”

“I want to know where you got that thing,” Jemma said, folding her arms and nodding towards the aluminum case. “No one has bloody told us anything, and since we’re doing what you want, we deserve to know. What it is, something. You know we do.” 

A nervous laugh bubbled out of Georgie’s throat and she took another drag on her cigarette. “Yeah, deserve. Betcha Daddy would have a good laugh at that.” Jemma’s fists tightened, pushing her nails painfully into her palms, but Georgie just shook her head and turned her head up to the sky. “Hell, though. You wanna know? It’s a – yeah, it’s a real winner of a story. S’all my fucking fault. The night your husband killed Nate, Shawn showed up at the bar after closing and said we needed to go – he told me what happened, said you two were gone, that we couldn’t stay with Daddy anymore if we wanted to live. We fought somethin’ awful,” she muttered, flicking the cigarette again. “For an hour or more, but he won in the end. Usually does. He went to pack our things, and I –” She paused, glancing over at Jemma. 

“Guess you n’ I are alike in some ways, Harker, ‘cause I went to see what I could take from the bar’s storeroom before we left, to keep us floatin’ ‘til we settled. And that fuckin’ thing – looked more valuable than anything else in there. So I grabbed it. We made it for a coupla months on our own without needing to sell it. Those were good days,” she murmured, crushing her cigarette butt with her heel. “Just me and Shawn, on the road by ourselves. Never felt so free.” 

Jemma glanced around the yard, eventually spotting Fitz helping Skye to hobble out the front door onto the porch. Sunny afternoons in the Southern countryside, long, seemingly aimless drives, and laughter slipped into her mind, and she sighed. All that had been a rather long time ago, now. “I know the feeling.”

Georgie hugged her arms around her torso, voice flattening as she began the next part of her story. “When we tried to sell the thing it went bad. Real bad. We got separated, and I ended up running with the fucking case. Spent a long time looking for Shawn, but he – he was gone. No idea where, or what’d happened to him.”

“Bloody hell,” Jemma murmured, the reason for Georgie’s withdrawn behavior over the past nine days becoming abundantly clear. 

“Yeah,” Georgie said, her voice shaky. “Yeah, I fucked everything up. I found Ethan and he saved my ass, but I haven’t seen my Shawn in – fuck, in almost a year. And I miss him. I miss him so fucking much.” She covered her face with one hand and inhaled, breath uneven.

A part of Jemma wanted to reach out to provide physical comfort in lieu of the reassuring words she didn’t have, but Georgie had never seemed like a particularly tactile person – and they’d never had that friendly of a relationship, even back in Atlanta. 

“Jemma?” Fitz’s voice was tentative, his boot steps having gone unnoticed because of her preoccupation with Georgie’s story. As Jemma spun around, he looked over at the other woman, who didn’t spare him a glance. “Sorry to interrupt, but we don’t have that much time, and I –”

“Not interrupting,” Georgie said, voice brittle. “Need to talk to Ethan anyway.” Swiping at her cheeks, she crunched away through the dead grass, the remnants of her cigarette still smoking in her wake. 

Fitz drew even with Jemma, and she shook her head. “That was an enlightening conversation in some ways, although not as useful as I’d hoped.” Speaking quickly, she summarized what Georgie had just told her. “See if Skye can get any of that to the Playground?”

He nodded, mulling over the new information in his head. “So,” he started, a dark weariness spreading across his expression, “this is all actually _my_ fault.”

“Fitz –” 

“I’m the only reason he wanted to run, Jemma, you know that. And I shouldn’t have even told him that much, he could’ve warned Charlie to run, too –”

“Stop,” Jemma snapped, reaching out to hold his face in both her hands. “Stop blaming yourself, Fitz, there’s no way you could’ve known what was going to happen. And Georgie made her choices, too, as did Shawn. No one person is ever responsible for all parts of a situation.” He kept his eyes trained on hers as she spoke, his shoulders slumping as she finished.

“Yeah, you’re right. Of course. That’s actually....” Fitz exhaled, and paused, frowning over at where Ward was saying something to Skye. She’d turned her entire body away from his, pointedly looking anywhere but at him, and after finishing whatever he was saying he backed reluctantly away. Once Ward was no longer near Skye, Fitz returned his attention to Jemma. “That’s why I needed to talk to you. Before, what you overheard –”

“Oh, Fitz, I don’t want to fight now....” Jemma sighed, but he shook his head, eyes widening. 

“No, no, I don’t – that’s what I meant. You’re right. I didn’t... realize how I’d sounded until then. ‘Til I heard him say that. It was so bloody –”

“Controlling? Possessive?”

Fitz winced, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Yeah. And I didn’t mean it that way, at all. I don’t want to control you –”

“Good –”

“It would never have occurred to me –” 

“But it did,” she reminded him, taking both of his hands in her own. “If you’d been able to protect me, you would have done it whether I liked it or not.” 

He inhaled and briefly closed his eyes. “Yeah. And I want that, to protect you, but I don’t... want _that_. I’m really sorry, Jemma,” he said, hugging her arms against his chest. “I was wrong, and bloody terrified, okay? I just want to keep you safe - but I shouldn’t’ve acted like that.” 

A weight lifted off her shoulders at his words, and Jemma gave him a fond, grateful smile. They’d had a similar fight months ago, when they’d first returned from Atlanta, but at the time the argument had ended at an impasse. Never having been especially good at dealing with emotional things, Jemma had been sort of at a loss at how else to explain why Fitz was wrong – and she was deeply relieved that he’d figured it out on his own. Most importantly, this meant that she didn’t need to go off on a dangerous mission while feeling insecure about their relationship. 

“No, you shouldn’t have. Thank you for apologizing.” Using his hold on her as leverage, she stretched up to give him a brief, gentle kiss. 

“Thank you for letting me,” he replied, nuzzling his nose against hers.

Her stomach gave a nervous swoop and a malicious voice at the back of her head wondered if this could be the last time she’d ever hold Fitz like this. They’d been in situations far more dangerous than this one before, but doing this on her own was far more frightening – particularly because she would be in charge of Ward. “Take care of yourself, okay? And Skye?”

His smile was a front; she could see the tears wavering at the corners of his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly in hers. “I will. You make yourself a priority, Jemma – none of this saving other people business.” She rolled her eyes, but he reached up to guide her chin so she met his gaze. “Promise you’ll come back to me, Jemma. Promise.” 

 _God_ , how she wanted to be able to make that promise – maybe more than anything else she’d ever wanted to tell him. As she stared into his eyes, the rising sunlight turning them an impossibly bright blue, she knew that she didn’t want the last thing she ever told him to be a lie – there had been too much miscommunication between them lately and she couldn’t bear to continue in that way. Not when she didn’t know what the rest of the day would bring. 

Jemma raised one hand to his cheek, smoothing her thumb over his stubble. “As long as I’m able, I’ll always find my way back to you. Always, Fitz.”

Fitz’s face crumbled as he nodded, reaching out to pull her against himself so strongly that she was lifted off the ground. Wrapping her arms around his shoulders, she buried her face in his neck, both of them gripping each other as if they could keep the danger at bay by just holding on tightly enough.

“Leaving in two minutes!” Ethan shouted this somewhere behind them, but neither paid him any attention. 

“I love you, Fitz,” Jemma whispered as emphatically as she could be without letting her tone waver. “I love you more than anything.” 

“And I love you, Jemma,” Fitz squeezed out, his voice uneven, and she could feel his shoulders give a few, brief shakes under her hands. A car door slammed behind them, and they reluctantly slid apart. He swiped at his cheeks and inhaled deeply, giving her a tight smile as she met his gaze. “Now you hold onto this,” he said, holding up the wrist on which she now wore his large, gold watch. “My grandfather gave it to me for luck when I left Scotland for the Academy, so it’ll do the same for you.” She gave him a shaky smile in return, pressing her hand over his as heavy bootsteps approached behind her. 

“Time to go.”

When Jemma turned around, Ward tilted his head in the direction of the SUV, standing eerily still. “See _you_ in a few hours,” Fitz said to Ward, expression hardening at the sight of him, and gave Jemma’s wrist one last squeeze.

Reluctantly, she let go of his hand and forced herself to step away, knowing that the longer she tarried the harder it would be to leave. Skye stood at the top of the porch steps, her grip on the crutch white-knuckled, and she gave Jemma an emphatic wave as soon as their eyes met. 

“Be safe, Jemma!” 

Not trusting her voice, Jemma nodded and gave her friend a small wave back, at last turning fully to stride towards the open SUV door. 

“Nice watch,” Ward said coolly, not looking at her as he spoke, and she narrowed her eyes. 

“Yeah. It’s Fitz’s most important possession –”

“Thought that was you,” he interjected, giving her a brief smile, but she stiffened and glared up at where he was holding the door. 

“I’m no one’s possession.”

He frowned as she climbed up past him, following her to the open seats in the back. “That didn’t come out right –”

“Of course it didn’t,” she muttered, crossing her arms as he sat next to her. Clearly noticing the way that she was pointedly staring out the tinted windows, Ward didn’t say anything else, and for that she was glad. At least he wouldn’t try to make small talk as they drove to the meeting place, an abandoned field that was over an hour’s drive from here.

Through the corner of her window, Jemma could just see Fitz climb the stairs to Skye, who said something as he approached. He didn’t respond, instead crouching down to sit by her feet. A moment passed, and then she clumsily sat next to him, using his shoulder to support herself as she gingerly avoided putting weight on her injured leg. Once she was seated, she curled an arm around his shoulders and he leaned against her, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. 

Although it was hard to see through the tinted glass, Jemma’s heart clenched at the realization that he was probably crying, and she hated to be the genesis of such sadness. If she took the long view, this was all Hydra’s doing, or the Wellers’, but it _felt_ like her fault. The only comfort she had was that at least Fitz and Skye would protect each other, even if she couldn’t. Their image disappeared quickly as the SUV started moving, tires crunching over gravel, and Jemma couldn’t help but feel that she was simultaneously as prepared as she could be and not prepared at all.

 

\------

 

_Mission: One Hundred Twenty-Third Day_

 

In theory, Fitz was in the process of standing to go clean up in the bathroom and retrieve his boxers, but Jemma held him close and continued to press in with languid kisses. They’d been lying together post-coitus for long enough that they’d both caught their breaths, sweat having already dried on their bare skin, but she wasn’t quite ready to separate from him yet. He murmured her name against her lips and she smiled, sliding her fingers up into his curls.

“I’ll be right back,” he managed to get out, kneeling on the bed as she followed him up. Giving her one of his brightest smiles, blue eyes dancing in the evening light, he lingered for one more kiss. “Promise.”

Then his warmth was gone from their bed, and he padded quickly into the bathroom. Jemma exhaled, leaning forward over her knees and grinning a little at the sight of his bare arse. Without him beside her, though, her thoughts drifted to the news they’d received not long before falling into bed together. Frowning, she fetched her bathrobe from the end of the bed, suddenly antsy and needing to not be still anymore. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, and she leaned against the wall, watching the way light-tinted dust motes sparkled against the window glass.

She tried to remember what it felt like not to want Fitz for herself. Not just physically, although she did want him that way as well – a deeper wanting, something needy but not quite. To know that he could go where and do as he pleased but that he would return to her, for her, because of her. The words themselves eluded her, but the feeling was clear enough. Although she tried, she had trouble getting a hold on what her life – their life – had been like before this mission. They’d spent years together, nearly a decade, and she’d never needed to be with him like she did now – enjoyed being around him, yes, cared for him more than almost anyone, of course, but not _needed_. 

Her thoughts circled over and over in her head, anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach to gnaw at the good mood she’d been in not so long ago. She’d been in Fitz’s arms for hours, together and wanting and giving, but even that had held a tinge of desperation she didn’t quite understand. Thanks to the message they’d received this afternoon, the mission was about to come to an end, and Jemma honestly wasn’t sure what frightened her more: Having to find her way back to the reserved biochemist she’d once been, or having to stop pretending that she loved Fitz. Pretending to be married to him had become easy so quickly, far more so than anything else she’d had to learn for this mission, and she wasn’t sure how to go back. Had they really not touched each other all the time before? Had she not fallen asleep in his arms a hundred times before, or whispered her feelings in between kisses before? How was she supposed to let him go?

And _why_ did she feel this way about her best friend? _Best. Friend_. The adrenaline that had flooded her system during her orgasm was almost gone, and she shivered against the cool air, pulling her cotton robe more tightly closed. She was long since past having accepted that things had shifted between her and Fitz, but she didn’t know what to do – whether she should try to move forward with her confusing feelings or to try to return to what they’d been before. As for Fitz... for the first time in years, she didn’t _know_ how he felt about their relationship, and the idea of asking him made her stomach turn. 

“Thinking about the orders?”

Jemma turned to see Fitz standing in the bathroom doorway, now wearing his boxers, and instinctively reached out for him. Everything was always so much simpler when his arms were around her, and she leaned back into his chest once he’d crossed the room, wrapping her fingers around his wrists. Remembering that he’d asked her a question, she hummed quietly, more at his warmth than as a real answer. The orders weren’t far from her mind, but they weren’t exactly what had drawn her mood down.

“Cold?” 

 _And terrified, and sad, and very confused about you_. Instead of saying what she was thinking, however, Jemma sighed, and told him a partial truth. She was very good at those, now. 

“I don’t like it, Fitz. After all this time, working _so_ hard to get in –” 

“They want us to destroy everything we’ve built. Yeah.” 

The way he finished her sentence made warmth bloom in her chest; for a moment, they almost felt just like they’d always been. Except it was hard to ignore the fact he was holding her intimately, and neither of them was fully dressed.

She began to rub small circles against his hand with her thumb, taking strength from his steady presence. “I’m sure Trip’s intel is solid, but... to change our mission objective so suddenly...”

“The idea that we’re their best shot at luring Quinn out along with this weapon seems more than a little farfetched.” The note of skepticism in his voice surprised her; the words were something that the Fitz she’d always known would say, but his tone was off. Fitz had always believed so strongly in Coulson, and she’d noted a worrisome trend of her best friend questioning their boss more than one ought. Of course, she’d had her own doubts about the legendary agent’s motives herself, but it just wasn’t quite _Fitz_. 

Seeking to provide what scant assurance that she could, she turned towards him, resting her head more fully against his shoulder. “We have to try to trust that Coulson knows what he’s doing.” That was the important word for her – try. It was against her nature to follow blindly, but he’d proven to them more than once that he’d earned the benefit of their doubt. “It isn’t always easy to follow orders.” Even more than that, it was sometimes difficult to think through the orders given and accept them on one’s own moral grounds, but both were equally necessary in their line of work. She left the last unsaid, though, wanting to return to the peaceful quiet of the little home they’d made for themselves here. 

His muscles stiffened at her words, and then went slack as he leaned more fully against the wall, pulling her with him. “No. No, it’s not.”

The only noise in the apartment was the quiet swish of cars driving along the street and their breathing, chests rising and falling together. Jemma thought briefly about pressing more firmly back against Fitz with her arse to wind him up, but rejected it almost immediately. It wouldn’t be because she was turned on herself – it would be to satisfy the need she had to be near him all the time now, on a level far deeper than she was allowing herself. Although having sex was not the worst way to fulfill that particular urge, it shouldn’t be her default. Locking away her uncertainties seemed to her to be the only way to move forward with the mission. Just because she’d psychoanalyzed herself out of that particular course of action didn’t mean that she couldn’t seek out more physical comfort from him, however. 

As she was about to turn and curl herself around Fitz, a loud knock came from the front door, halting her movement and signaling that it was time for her to cease her self-indulgence. They had more important things to do now than simply be together.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: Day Eight_

 

Having secured the door to the Skye-adjacent room, Jemma leaned against it and closed her eyes, mind-numbingly tired. The day had been simultaneously slow and very busy, filled with both a lot of waiting and a lot of preparing for tomorrow’s mission. But what she’d found the most wearing was Fitz’s worry – he wasn’t saying anything, both of them choosing to let their argument go for the time being, but she could read him better than anyone else in the world. His anxiety rolled off of him any time she glanced in his direction, in the stiff hunch of his shoulders or the low mutter of his voice, in the way he had to touch her any time they neared each other, as if to make sure she was still there. It made her stomach twist into knots, her own nerves feeding silently off of his until they were both unsettled to the point of exhaustion. 

A shuffle of socked feet creaked over the floorboards towards her and then two hands were warm on her shoulders, sliding down her arms. Jemma didn’t open her eyes, instead waiting for Fitz to kiss her – which he did, and she smiled against his lips at his predictability, letting him pull himself in so that they were pressed against each other against the door. The kisses were soft, his lips parting hers to allow their tongues to ghost together just as often as not, and she sighed into him, allowing her own hands to wind up his arms and tangle in his curls. Although it had been just barely over a week, it felt like they hadn’t done this in ages – this, or anything else physical, for that matter.

He started trailing warm, gentle kisses along her jaw and down her neck, and she sighed, nuzzling into his hair. “Hello to you, too.” An appreciative hum rumbled out of his throat, and she grinned at his persistence as he nipped teasingly just above her collarbone. “Do we have an agenda, perhaps, Fitz?”

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” One hand worked up the back of her blouse, and she could feel that he’d rolled his shirtsleeve up, the texture of his wrist against her back just as soft as her own skin.

She hummed into a chuckle, batting away his other hand as he tried to work it underneath the waistline of her jeans. “You are about as subtle as a brick.”

“A sexy brick,” he shot back, and then paused as Jemma started giggling. “That sounded better in my head.” 

“Mmm, as do many things,” she teased, keeping her eyes on his as she gave him a quick peck on the lips. But he followed her back down, angling her lips open with his own for a long, deliciously heated kiss, arms pulling her so tightly against himself that she was practically tipped backwards, supporting herself using his shoulders.

When he released her lips this time, it took Jemma a few seconds to open her eyes, and when she did he was grinning cheekily down at her. “Thinking my agenda sounds like a pretty good idea now, hm?”

A part of her – the rather fickle, predictable part that resided south of her bellybutton – thought that it was a very good idea indeed. But, as was ever the case, the logical part of Jemma’s brain was in control (although tenuously so after that kiss), and she sighed. “I don’t think so, Fitz....”

“C’mon, Jemma,” he wheedled, giving her that wide-eyed look he _knew_ she had trouble resisting. “We have protection, and we might....” He swallowed, halting mid-sentence and breaking their gaze, the unspoken “ _we might die tomorrow_ ” filling the air between them. 

“Skye would kill us,” she pointed out, disentangling herself from his arms and earning a disappointed sigh.

“I could give her some tissues for earplugs –”

“And, honestly Fitz, don’t you think....” Jemma frowned, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “I think that it’s become too easy for us.”

He stared at her for a few moments, hands on his hips and brows furrowed. “Sex has become too easy...?”

“Not like that, I just mean –” She patted the bed next to her and waited for him to sit before continuing. “I think we jump to sex too easily. It’s sort of how we got together – sex first, honesty later, and I’m... it probably shouldn’t be that way forever. Not that I don’t love the sex! I do, you know I do, but I mean emotionally. I think. Do you see what I mean?”

Her hands crept up to her neck instinctively, watching him as she waited anxiously for an answer, not even sure if that was what she’d meant to say. But she’d noticed a pattern within her own reactions, going all the way back to when they were still in Atlanta, and she worried that if she didn’t try to change her own behavior it would hurt them in the long run. While undercover, she’d spent so long using their physical intimacy as a replacement for the romantic, emotional intimacy she’d begun to crave that it had just become easier, sometimes, to show Fitz how she felt rather than to say it.

Their fight the other day, though, had made it clear that she needed to move past that crutch – sometimes showing someone how you feel isn’t enough, and their relationship had long since moved past that point. And Jemma wasn’t going to let them fall apart just because talking about her feelings was difficult.

Fitz nodded slowly when she finished rambling, chuckling as he pulled one of her hands into both of his. “Yeah. Yeah, I know exactly what you mean, although I’m a mite disappointed. Alright, more than that. It’s been over a week –”

Jemma laughed softly, shaking her head. “Insatiable, you are. It’s been longer than that before –”

“Not often,” he countered, nudging her shoulder. “Not since we first started.”

A creak sounded over their heads and they both flinched, even though the noise in any other house would have been innocuous. Sighing, Jemma stared down at their entwined hands. “It’s okay to admit that we’re both terrified of tomorrow, of – of losing each other. I think we should admit that and just... be here with each other. Is that okay?”

After studying her face, Fitz’s expression shifted into a mix between something fond and a little sad, and he exhaled. “I’m always okay with just being with you, Jemma. I mean, more than okay. No matter what we’re doing.” He was holding something back, but she decided not to push if this were all he wanted to share for the moment.

Leaning over, she pressed a chaste kiss to the side of his neck, closing her eyes and just breathing him in for a moment. “Thank you.”

A few minutes passed in silence, each of them only moving to get a better hold on the other, and Jemma was reminded of a particular afternoon back at the Academy. They’d been friends for a few months by that point, and had been sitting in her room for most of the day, each of them reading or working. When she’d glanced over at the curly-haired genius sitting cross-legged at the end of her bed, she’d had the realization that they hadn’t needed to speak for over an hour. Usually, silence around other people made her feel uncomfortable, as if her intellect meant that she should always be filling empty space with something clever, but when she was alongside Fitz that need... petered out. As if his own brilliance soothed her just by being nearby. It had been the first time that she’d really felt like his friend, although when he’d looked up quizzically at her she’d just grinned and shaken her head.

Eventually, she stood up to strip off her jeans – agenda or no, denim still made for rather uncomfortable sleeping wear – but Fitz grabbed onto her arm before she could do so. “Before I forget, you’ll need this.” He unclasped the gold watch that was his constant accessory and fastened it around her wrist, even though it was terribly loose. “You’ll need it for...” he said, trailing off as he gave a quick nod towards the hallway.

Jemma’s mouth dropped open and she had to fight with herself to stop from reprimanding him. If she understood him correctly (which she was fairly certain she did), this was his control mechanism for Ward – and it was incredibly foolishly done. Ward could have easily stolen it off of him at any time, thus negating the necessity of keeping Fitz alive at all. She closed her eyes and inhaled, counting to five before opening them again. “Remind me to talk to you about this when we’re home.”

Fitz gave her a puzzling little smile (was that regret she saw behind his eyes?) and squeezed her hand once before letting go. “Think of it as your good luck charm.”

Rolling her eyes, she started to remove her trousers. “Right.”

Once they were both partially undressed – Jemma in her underwear and blouse, and Fitz in his undershirt and boxers – he scooted as far back in the cot as he could go, and she curled up in his arms. There wasn’t much to be said between them at this point, both of them acutely aware of the brevity of the night, so when Jemma turned out the bedside lamp they lay together in silence. Her thumb swept over his hand as he pressed his face against the back of her neck, stubble scratching at her skin. She raised his hand so that she could press her lips to his knuckles, hugging his arm more tightly to her, and a small shudder ran through his body where he was curled around her. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Fitz murmured shakily. Jemma sighed and closed her eyes, hoping fervently that neither of them would ever have to find out.

 

\------

 

_Kidnapping: The Last Day – Day Nine (Part 3)_

 

The sun had fully risen by the time the ominous footsteps sounded in the forest, although the light did nothing to warm the chilled morning air. As the presumed Hydra agents approached, Georgie turned to Jemma and grabbed her arm. 

“I’m so sorry, Harker – I have to tell you ‘fore they get here, I’m sorry, I wish there could’ve been another way....” 

Dread creeping into her chest, Jemma stared up at the older woman. “What – sorry for what?” Georgie shook her head, uncharacteristic tears spilling down her cheeks, and Jemma shook the other woman’s grip on her. “Georgie, what have you done?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Ethan hissed.

“They said if I brought you without Fitzgerald, they’d bring him back – they’d bring my Shawn back,” she said, voice breaking. “I didn’t have a choice, you see that, right? I’m so fuckin’ sorry –” 

“Fuck,” Ward muttered behind them, cracking his neck and raising his pistol to shoulder-level. “This should be interesting.”

“I’m sorry,” Georgie said one more time, gun held loosely in her hand as Jemma turned numbly away, staring hard at the trees and wondering who on earth could possibly have wanted to capture Jemma Harker on her own. Although her cover persona was a criminal, she was by no means notorious enough to have some kind of fan base, or to be of any use to Hydra. Jemma Simmons would have skills useful enough to tempt the malicious organization, but a mediocre thief? All the articles about the Married Marksmen had emphasized the partnership of the Harker-Fitzgeralds – although some had given more line-space to Fitz, which made the request for her _alone_ that much more worrisome.

Two men became visible between the trees, one wearing a dark lab coat and holding a clipboard while the other clearly was performing the role of bodyguard. The man in the lab coat took note of how all four of them were pointing guns in his direction and smiled blandly, raising the hand that held his pen. “Whoa there,” he said, dark, beady eyes roaming over both the people and the field behind them. “No need to panic. I’m Kenneth, and we’ll be helping each other out today.”

Propellers slowed on the other side of the trees, and Kenneth turned around, shooting a glare at his companion. “What’s taking him so long?” The muscled man shrugged, arms crossed over his tactical gear. Kenneth muttered something inaudible, and then fixed his eyes on the aluminum case. “So, that’s why we’re here?” 

“Money first,” Ethan said, still holding his AK-47 up. 

Giving him a dry smile, Kenneth nodded understandingly. “Of course – my, ah, associate will be along with it shortly.” He paused, and then shouted back into the trees: “ _I don’t know what you’re doing, but HURRY. UP._ ” When he turned around again, he handed his clipboard to his lackey and pulled out a pair of black, latex gloves. “While we’re waiting, may I...?” 

Ethan eyed him suspiciously, but nodded, gesturing with the rifle. “Nice and slow.”

When Kenneth unclasped and lifted the lid of the aluminum case, his eyes lit up with an unsettling amount of glee at the sight of the silver obelisk inside. “Oh wow,” he chuckled, straightening up and crossing his arms. “That’s _so_ cool.” 

“What is it?” Jemma couldn’t help herself, watching the shifting lights glide along the surface of the 084.

Kenneth didn’t spare her a glance, fixated on the object in the case. “If we’re lucky? ‘The bringer of death.’” He sniggered, the sound swallowed by the dry winter wind. Rustling echoed through the trees again, and he let out an annoyed groan. “About time. Hurry up, Blizzard, I don’t have all day!”

Branches breaking around him, Donnie Gill strode through into the field. His hair was cropped short now but his eyes still held the haunting hollowness that Jemma remembered vividly from the last time she’d seen him, when he’d attacked Fitz in an Atlanta alleyway. 

“I’ve told you not to call me that,” he growled. “My name’s the Icer.”


	10. A Deal with the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick reminder that brainwashing _does not exist_ in this universe.

_Kidnapping: The Last Day – Day Nine (Part 4)_

 

Although Jemma knew that nothing had actually changed in the field in the past few seconds, her entire chest felt tight, as if the air itself was closing in around her. No one else here knew her full history with Donnie, that he’d spent months in a Playground cell only wanting to talk to her. That he’d spoken in questions of her, her history, her relationship with Fitz, and that she’d had nightmares of him finding her. The Hydra scientist (who was probably his minder) most likely knew what Donnie was capable of, but not that she had been the sole focus of his hate for so long. Even though Ward must have recognized him, there was no way for him to know about Donnie’s powers now, and Jemma fought the latent instinct to warn him. (Doing so would only distract the Wellers from their focus on the Hydra agents, and she didn’t need more questions from them right now. Keeping quiet about Donnie was the best way to ensure that everyone’s loyalties stayed exactly the same – for the time being.) The only concession she made to her fear was to hold her gun a little more tightly, watching as Donnie’s eyes locked onto hers.

Not noticing Donnie’s new single-minded focus, Kenneth waved a hand dismissively in his direction. “Yeah, okay, Blizzard, the Icer, whatever –” 

“Hydra called me Blizzard because it matched their filing system. The Icer is mine. _My_ name.” But his voice didn’t have any of the bite it had when he first stepped into the clearing, having taken on a frighteningly even tone.

“Fine,” Kenneth snapped, pulling off his latex gloves. “Are you ready?”

“Feels like I always was,” he said with a smirk, holding his hands out to the side. 

The Hydra scientist turned to the Wellers, a large grin spreading across his face. “So, I’ve got some bad news for you guys. We’re not going to be paying you –” 

Ethan started swearing, raising his gun a little higher, but Georgie spoke over him, panicked. “Where’s Shawn? Where’s my husband? You said if I brought her alone you’d let him go –”

“Oh, right,” Kenneth said, tapping his hand against his forehead in a false gesture of jollity. “Yeah, we never had him. No clue who he is or where he is. But Blizzard here wouldn’t cooperate if we didn’t take advantage of your connection to –”

“No,” Georgie whispered, eyes watering briefly before her expression hardened. “Fuck you.” She pulled the trigger, but Donnie lashed out with two bursts of ice, one knocking the bullet to the side and the other smashing into her head and throwing her to the ground. Ethan yelled in pain as the stray bullet tore through his leg, and Donnie sent another explosion of ice in his direction, knocking him down before he could get off even one shot. 

“Well, that’s new,” Ward muttered next to Jemma, who glanced up at him. His stance was still steady, but she could see him looking around the field, calculating angles and distance, waiting for the opportune moment to inflict the most amount of damage on his now-unpredictable opponent. 

“Good job,” Kenneth muttered, making a note of something on his clipboard before tucking it against his chest. “Let’s get this thing moving.” 

Donnie smiled again, eyes traveling the length of Jemma’s body and making her skin crawl. “Yeah, let’s.”

Under four sets of wary and watchful eyes, he crouched, keeping his gaze and one hand held forward as he pressed the other to the anemic, wintertime grass by his feet. Two tendrils of ice shot from his fingers to curl elegantly around the aluminum case towards Ward and Jemma, both of whom inched backwards. Before they could move much, however, the ice changed direction and sped towards Kenneth and the bodyguard, connecting with their feet and quickly traveling up to freeze their bodies through their shoulders.

“What the –” The bodyguard tried moving, but the ice’s hold over his muscles was too strong. 

“Shhhh,” Donnie hushed, holding one finger to his lips. “If you call for help, I think you know what’ll happen next.” 

“You malicious little shit –” Kenneth’s face was flushed red as he struggled against the ice, but Donnie just sighed.

“Well, now I know who I’m going to kill first. Before I do, though, I wanna take a second to do this....” Placing his other free hand on the ground, Donnie watched as another beam of ice shot towards the aluminum case and the entire thing exploded, sending frozen shrapnel across the field. Jemma ducked, narrowly avoiding a large shard, and Ward just flinched. “That’s what I think about Hydra and its plans.”

Eyes tearing in horror or longing, Kenneth stared at the crater in the ground where the 084 had been just moments before. “We’ve been searching for that –” 

“For years. You told me,” Donnie said, almost shining with glee at the heartbroken expression on the Hydra scientist’s face. “I just wanted to make sure you saw me destroy your hopes and dreams – _before_ you die.” Without further preamble, the ice crept up to the top of the two Hydra agents’ heads, their skin now a sallow periwinkle color and faces contorted but still.

Although it seemed unlikely, the whole field now seemed ten degrees colder, but Jemma thought that that was likely her imagination. Nothing she’d seen so far – yet – had suggested that Donnie could control anything other than moisture, and she suspected that changing the temperature of the air in general might be beyond him. But then again, if he’d returned to Hydra after escaping from the Playground, there was no telling what they might have done to him in the ensuing week. 

Instead of inciting an explosion of the ice that had invaded the bodies of the Hydra agents, however, Donnie straightened and brushed the dirt off his hands. A thoughtful expression lingered over his face as he circled the two of them, stopping again just inches in front of Kenneth. He raised one finger and tapped it against the man’s nose, and the frozen corpse’s fall seemed to happen in slow motion, cracking into the guard just before smashing to the ground in a dozen pieces, shortly followed by the other body. Jemma felt as if she was inside an ice cocoon herself, her entire chest having gone numb with fear. Even trying to work through quantifying the physical aspects of his gift didn’t help her focus; she was terrified to the point that she was barely thinking at all.

“What do you want?” Ward’s voice was even, and Jemma wondered again how he did that – how he shut off any of the fight or flight instincts against which she was now struggling.

Donnie turned back to them, studying Ward. “Well, I wanted to have a nice talk with Agent Simmons, just the two of us. And that sorta makes you a problem.”

Ward fired an ICER round, which Donnie just barely missed by crouching to the ground again and pressing his fingers into the dirt. Before she could think it through, Jemma dropped her own pistol and grabbed the second ICER Ward had in a holster at his waist, getting off a shot directly into his back before the encroaching ice could reach him. Everything stopped briefly as she and Donnie watched Ward collapse, a small puff of dirt rising around his body. 

“There,” she breathed, looking back at Donnie. “He’s unconscious, you don’t have to freeze him.” As she waited for his response, she hoped against everything she’d ever loved that she hadn’t just made the biggest mistake of her life. Despite her distrust of the man, Ward had probably been her best chance of escape.

Donnie studied her face for a second, the tendril of ice curling into graceful circles around and over the pale brown grass as he thought, and then nodded, straightening. The ice began to melt the moment that he removed from the ground, creating eerily graceful water patterns in the dirt. “Fine.” 

“Can I....” Jemma gestured at the Wellers. “Can I check on them?” 

He chuckled, crossing his arms. “Ever the SHIELD agent. Go ahead, I’ve got all day.”

Tucking the ICER into the back hem of her trousers, Jemma leaned first over Georgie and then Ethan, ascertaining that his gun wound was shallow and that both of them were just unconscious, although Georgie might have a concussion when she awoke. She continued kneeling for a moment, trying to give herself time to think of some way to escape that Donnie wouldn’t see coming. Ward had conveniently demonstrated for her that the ICER was effectively moot now, as was her pistol; Ethan’s AK-47 might be fast enough, but on top of the fact that Donnie would see her dive for it, she had never fired one before. Their undercover training sessions hadn’t included high artillery. 

“Caring about the people who just sold you out,” he tsked. “I can see what Agent Fitz likes about you.”

Clenching her jaw, Jemma stood and faced Donnie, only slightly startled to see that he was only a few feet away from her now. “What do you want with me, Donnie?” In Atlanta, she’d made the careful choice to remind him of his real name, not the pseudonym he’d chosen to adopt while with Hydra, and she continued to do so now. Maybe if she could get through to the scared boy who’d begged them to save his best friend, she’d be able to calm him down. “Why _do_ all this? You escaped SHIELD – you could have gone anywhere!”

“But it’s not the same without someone to share it with,” he parroted, giving her an exaggerated pout. “Being in SHIELD’s dungeons gave me a lot of time to think – boy,” he chuckled darkly, shoving his hands into his pockets, “you never realize how many thoughts you have until you’re left in a box by yourself for months on end.” 

Jemma frowned; even Ward, whose sins were multitudinous and personal, hadn’t been treated so poorly. In her various surreptitious checks on Donnie’s status while she’d been at the Playground, she knew that they’d brought in a whole range of psychologists, although she wasn’t privy to their findings. He must have created his own mythos, which selected the most relevant truths and negated the rest – or he considered what they provided beneath him, and considering his prodigious intellect that wouldn’t surprise her.

“And they weren’t about to give me tools to invent anything,” he continued. “God only knows what I’d cook up on my own again, amirite?” 

“Surely they gave you some form of entertainment,” she sighed, pressing her palms against her thighs.

“Monsters don’t need entertainment,” he snapped, “and that’s what Hydra made me.”

“And yet _you’re_ the one behaving this way now,” she pointed out, but he ignored her, circling slightly to the left as he kept his gaze trained on her.

“What I did find pretty interesting, though, was thinking about how Agent Fitz talked about _you_.” Donnie laughed again, and she had to turn to follow his careful amble around her, like an animal watching its prey. 

Thinking he meant at the Playground, she rolled her eyes. “Oh please, Donnie, I know he was never permitted to talk to you in your cell –” 

“At the Academy,” he interrupted. “You know, right before you let my best friend die.”

Jemma frowned, trying to parse out when that kind of conversation could have happened; the two of them had only been alone for a matter of minutes, while she, Skye, and Ward were at the Boiler Room. “Fitz talked about me – to you, at the Academy?” 

“Smartest person there and everything. But that wasn’t what stuck with me,” he mused, clasping his hands behind his back. “I mean, he always knew you’d get along, even before you were friends –”

She let out a noise of frustration, throwing one hand out in front of her. “Why bother lying to me now, Donnie? And about that, of all things. I’ve got nowhere to go, and no weapons strong enough to get past you –”

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, yeah. Look at you making that deduction all on your own – showing those smarts, Dr. Simmons. But I’m _not_ lying to you.” 

“Fitz hated me when we first met at the Academy,” she said tiredly, really not in the mood for this conversation. “We didn’t get on until we were forced to work together. Not that – hell, not that this has anything to do –”

Donnie laughed suddenly, and she flinched. “Wow, that’s – that’s not even close to what he said to me. I mean, hell, don’t believe me if you don’t want to, but like you said – I’ve got no reason to lie. He told me he spent months trying to think of something clever enough to say to you.” 

A gust of wind blew open the collar of her jacket and she shivered, brows furrowing as she tried to figure out what reason Fitz would have to tell Donnie something so patently untrue. 

“Anyway,” he continued, a smirk still hovering around his lips. “I kept thinking about that because I’ve never felt that way about anyone. Seth – he was smart and popular, but, honestly, I was just happy someone wanted to talk to me. But you... Leopold Fitz, the smartest person to ever go through SciTech, was only ever interested in _you_. And I’ve been dying to know why that is.”

Jemma crossed her arms, trying to parse out Donnie’s intentions by studying his posture; unfortunately, she couldn’t tell anything. Now that his other opponents were out of the way, he seemed almost relaxed – as if he felt that he really did have all day. In some ways, he did; even if she tried to shoot him suddenly, he was too fast with his powers and too far away for her shot to have a chance of hitting him.

“Wouldn’t it have made more sense to have allowed Fitz to come, then? I certainly don’t know the answer to that question.” She couldn’t hide the edge to her voice, missing Fitz’s presence more and more by the second. 

“Oh, sure you do. You just have to think about it a little harder.” Tapping a finger against his temple, Donnie took a step towards her – and she mirrored him by stepping back. “Aw c’mon, I’m not gonna hurt you.” 

She let out an incredulous laugh and gestured to the unconscious people that surrounded them. “Seriously, Donnie? Why would I believe that?” 

“Because I’ve got other plans for you.” 

His matter-of-fact tone made Jemma’s stomach lurch, although she tried not to let her fear show when she next spoke. “Like what?” 

“You’re gonna do for me what you did for him. Be my best friend, take the loneliness away –”

“You’re delusional,” she snapped, nearing complete disbelief that this was the same shy young genius she’d first met at SciTech not-quite two years ago.

Donnie just nodded and gave a small shrug. “Yeah, and probably clinically insane, too – you can give Hydra’s ‘interrogators’ credit for that, back when they took me from the Sandbox.” She shot him a look of patent disbelief; most people who genuinely were insane didn’t tend to own up to it so easily. Unperturbed, he noted the incredulity on her face and added: “Hydra’s psychologists aren’t as good about making sure I’m not listening to their diagnoses as SHIELD’s are. And I really don’t give a fuck about whether I’m crazy or not.”

“Why did you even go back there?” This had been bothering her ever since they’d started talking, and particularly after his mention of having been interrogated. Freedom she could understand, but returning to the place that had broken him was far beyond her comprehension. “To Hydra? I just don’t understand, you could have gone anywhere....” 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

They stared at each other in silence and Jemma felt something cold and a little sad settle in her chest, remembering Fitz’s words to her many months ago about how Donnie shouldn’t be like this, although not for the reasons Fitz had likely meant at the time. Remembering the glee in Kenneth’s eyes when he talked about the 084’s potential for destruction, she wondered if he’d been involved with Donnie’s interrogations; perhaps eliminating that scientist hadn’t been such a terrible thing to do. 

“Besides,” he continued, as if he hadn’t just revealed his own vulnerability, “Hydra had the best resources to find you. And since my life’s purpose now is pretty much to make Fitz’s life a living hell –”

“Seth’s death isn’t Fitz’s fault, Donnie!” Jemma reached out instinctively, half-wanting to literally shake some sense into him, but pulled herself back. “It’s yours, for not standing up to him, for making the machine in the first place!” She inhaled sharply, hoping she hadn’t gone too far. A small voice at the back of her head pointed out the part that Quinn’s influence had played, but something told her that the more she talked, the more fuel she added to the fire.

His mouth twisted in a bitter smile, and he gave her a long nod. “Yeah. It is. But Fitz helped me do it, and since I _really_ don’t feel like torturing myself –” He snapped his fingers and grinned, rather like a demented game show host. “Fitz gets the prize. Or, well, you do. And when I’m done figuring you out, I’ll send you back to him. See if the king’s man can put you back together again.”

She shuddered, panic taking hold as she started backing away, holding her unsteady hands out in front of her. “You don’t want to do this, Donnie –”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, following her retreat further into the field at a measured stroll. “I haven’t had a best friend in a long time, and, man, I miss him – it. You seem like you’d –”

“Did you love him?” The idea had just popped into her head, and the words stopped both of them in their tracks. Jemma studied his reaction, his unsettling smile taking on a more sour turn.

“What?”

“Did you love Seth?”

Donnie let out a small grunt of annoyance, crossing his arms. “Yeah, he was my best friend –”

“Don’t play stupid with me,” she interrupted, standing up a little straighter. “I know you better than that.”

“You don’t know _anything_ about me,” he snapped, “you’re just stalling –”

“Can you blame me?” She gestured to the field around them, hoping that pointing out the logic to her own actions might convince him to reevaluate his own. “I’m vastly outmatched and you’re _threatening_ me! What would you do in my situation?”

“Start trying to get on my good side,” he quipped. 

“Is that what Seth did? When he wanted your help to win Quinn’s business?” Jemma could tell she’d hit a nerve, then, and having no better ideas she decided to keep pressing about his dead friend. “Try to get on your good side, figure out what made you tick –”

“No, that’s not what –”

“Or had you always been interested in him, too? Just like Fitz?” A large gust blew dust up from the ground into the space between them, and the shadow that passed over Donnie’s face told Jemma everything she needed to know. Even if his story about what Fitz told him was a lie, as it must be, the pattern fit his own story, and she suspected she’d hit on the reason that Donnie’s focus had been her all along. 

After too much silence, he gave his shoulders a sharp shake. “Yeah, okay, we’re done here.” 

Fear shot through her stomach, and she struggled to catch her breath before she spoke. “But you didn’t answer my –” 

“Nope, and I’m not going to – c’mon, it’s time for us to go home.” Donnie strode towards her as she sped backwards, tripping over branches and rocks as she went.

“Please, Donnie, this isn’t you!” 

Something about that struck a chord and he stopped again, staring through her as she stumbled, just barely managing to keep herself upright. “I know,” he whispered, voice breaking. “But I don’t know how to be myself anymore.” 

He reached forward with one hand as if to grab her arm, and took a few more steps before three shots echoed through the field, causing a small flock of crows nearby to take flight. One bullet just barely made it through his chest, careening out of its trajectory not far from him, and Donnie stared down at the blood that began to seep through his grey shirt. The birds’ angry cawing faded as Donnie sank to his knees and then collapsed, dirt puffing into small clouds around him. 

A few feet behind him was Ward, still on the ground, his arms raised and holding the pistol that Jemma had dropped before knocking him out with the ICER. “Did he hurt you?”

Jemma let out a small noise of incredulity that was halfway between a laugh and a sob, and she stumbled, dropping onto her knees and pressing one hand to her chest. “No – no, I’m fine.”

She could hear Ward get to his feet, but didn’t pay him any attention, too focused was she on getting her heartbeat under control. Vague, horrifying images of what Donnie had been planning for her swirled through her head and she squeezed her eyes shut, forcing herself to accept that she didn’t have to be afraid of him anymore. But she wasn’t honestly sure if what she was feeling right now was more latent terror or an extreme form of pity and sadness. If Hydra hadn’t tortured the humanity out of him, and if he hadn’t let his own grief twist himself further beyond recognition, then Donnie Gill could have been fantastic. 

Ward made a small grunt, and Jemma looked up to see him standing and stretching his neck. “Fuck, I’d forgotten what a punch those things throw.”

Glancing away from where he was checking the ammo in his ICER, she stared down at Donnie’s bent body. “I think I owe you a thank you.”

He looked up at her, surprise flashing briefly over his steely exterior before he gathered himself. “Okay.” 

She dropped her gaze, frowning as she leaned back on her heels. “That doesn’t mean – I haven’t forgiven you, you know, but –”

“I get it,” he interrupted, snapping the ammo into place. “And, for what it’s worth – sorry about this.” Then Ward aimed the ICER at her, fired, and everything went dark.

 

\------

 

_Mission: One Hundred Thirty-Sixth Day_

 

The heat in early summertime in Atlanta was sticky, constant, and nigh unbearable, in one Englishwoman’s opinion. Jemma fanned herself with one hand as she waited for the crosswalk light to turn green, feeling very thankful that she’d packed a number of silk and cotton blouses before leaving the Playground almost six months ago. (Preparation was her specialty, after all.) Although she’d picked up a few new clothes during their criminal sojourn, it was actually strangely difficult to clothes shop. Their CCTV pictures were all over the news – although that had been more of a problem in the early weeks – and Jemma tried to avoid accepting things from the Wellers’ various “endeavors” as much as possible. That being said, she _had_ taken some clothes that fit well with her cover’s personality, and just made note of their origin and price to send back to Coulson for anonymous reimbursement. 

As she crossed the street within the crowd, she glimpsed the Wellers’ tail out of the corner of her eye, his hulking frame, slicked-back hair, and glowering expression doing nothing to help him blend in with this rather touristy crowd. In all honesty, Jemma was thrilled to be nearly finished with the day’s assignment of looking as suspicious as possible (so as to draw Charlie’s – and hopefully Hydra’s – attention). While Fitz got to catch up with Skye, she was stuck wandering around this one street, attempting to look nervous – which, admittedly, wasn’t especially difficult. But her nerves had absolutely nothing to do with the person tailing her or the Wellers, and had everything to do with Fitz.

All that they had left to plan at this point was the night that they would break into Charlie’s office – partially to collect any intel they could, and partially just to draw the Wellers’ ire. The closer the end of the mission became, the more confused Jemma was about her relationship with her best friend, and she was deeply worried about what things would be like when they returned. She had known for some time that her feelings for Fitz had been changing, but she refused to give them a name, most often choosing to blame them on a potent combination of endorphins and the adrenaline triggered by living such a dangerous life. But the time when she would no longer be able to avoid facing her feelings was rapidly approaching, and she was terrified. Once upon a time, she’d been so comfortable with their friendship, and now the undefined nature of both her own feelings and his were niggling at her constantly.

They were just about done here for the day, however, so soon she’d be able to use Fitz to help her forget about her worries – and she couldn’t wait. Tugging at the hem of her blouse to keep it from sticking to her skin, Jemma spotted the back of his head inside the grimy telephone booth just in front of her and decided to surprise him. Maybe they could even fool around a bit in the booth; it was hot as hell out here, but she thought she wouldn’t mind it for a little while, under the attentions of Fitz’s hands. 

“... I have to keep her safe.” 

Jemma just barely heard Fitz’s voice as she approached the cubicle from behind and let out a small sigh of exasperation. They’d need to have a talk sometime soon about how she was responsible for her own safety (even if, in her opinion, _his_ safety was absolutely her concern). 

“Because now I’m bloody in love with her, Skye, that’s why!”

Stumbling to a stop alongside the booth, Jemma’s stomach flipped over and a potent tingling sensation spread out from her chest to her limbs. Fitz was in love with her. _With her_. A wide smile broke across her face before she even knew what she was thinking, and she clapped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing in joy and relief. All this time she’d been afraid he was genuinely that good at acting, or that maybe she was imagining how things had shifted between them in the past two months (never mind that she knew her own feelings had been irreversibly changed). But she wasn’t crazy and she wasn’t alone – Fitz loved her, was _in love_ with her, and Jemma loved him back.

That’s exactly what she’d been feeling and ignoring for weeks, ever since the morning after the first time they slept together. It had been the first time she’d felt that distinct something different about him, initially not understanding it and then denying it. But that’s what it was – she loved Fitz. So fervently that she wondered, now, how she hadn’t always felt this way about him. How she’d almost spent her whole life never understanding that the reason she spent so much time comparing other people to Fitz was because, in her eyes, no one else would ever compare.

A part of her wanted to round the booth, rip the door open, and tell Fitz that she’d heard everything, wanted to start the rest of their lives together right this instant. But her smile faded as she remembered that they still had a mission to complete – a mission that would only be made more difficult if their focus was split by their feelings for each other. The devil’s advocate part of her wondered what if something went wrong during the mission. What if she died without ever telling Fitz how she felt? She reasoned that it might just be easier for him – he’d live on without having to wonder what might have been. (The opposite problem – of her surviving while he didn’t – popped into her head first, but the idea was too painful to contemplate for longer than the second it took her to push it away.)

The adrenaline that had rushed through her when she’d first overheard Fitz slowly sapped away, leaving Jemma with the realization that it would be wiser for her to wait until they were safe at home with SHIELD again before confronting Fitz about their mutual feelings. Then they could start a relationship having fully shed their undercover personas and without fear and uncertainty hanging over their heads. Until then, Jemma would take comfort in knowing that she had something amazing to look forward to once they were done, and could use that to fuel her focus on her job.

A loud click echoed from inside the phone booth, and Jemma’s pulse spiked again at just the thought of being able to see Fitz now. She made herself take a few deep breaths before she moved; she had at least a few days during which she’d need to force herself to behave, even if it was hard to do so. Once she’d calmed herself, she peeked around the corner of the booth just as Fitz pushed open the door. He looked patently upset, mouth twisted in a dissatisfied line, and it was all she could do not to blurt out that he had nothing to worry about when it came to her. 

“How did it go?” She managed to speak in a measured tone, although containing her grin was something more of a challenge, and her lips wavered as she looked up at him. 

When he shrugged, not meeting her eyes, Jemma just couldn’t take it anymore and forgot entirely about her question as she leaned up to kiss him. Her fingers curled into his collar as his hands moved automatically to encircle her waist, and she reminded herself that even if she couldn’t tell him yet how she felt at least she could show him. The tension in his arms and shoulders melted away as she pressed her lips to his over and over again, and, despite the looming danger, she felt blissfully happy.

After a minute or so, she dropped back onto her feet but Fitz followed her down, nuzzling against her nose as if he wasn’t ready to let her go, and something inside her chest clenched. It was so obvious how he felt about her, now that she'd heard him say it, and she chided herself for never having realized it on her own.

“Um, what’d you ask?” He chuckled, the blue of his irises truly breathtaking in the sunlight, and she allowed herself the wide grin that she wanted.

“Not important. Can we go home now?” Jemma bit her lip, searching his face eagerly for the agreement she was sure would follow. If showing Fitz how much she loved him was her only option right now, she had a few very good ideas how to do so.

He raised an eyebrow at her question and she nodded, noting how his pupils dilated ever so slightly when she did so. “Yeah, I, uh, think we’re done here for today.”

“Good,” she replied, turning in the direction of the Aston-Martin and entwining their fingers.

For now, she’d have to keep quiet, channeling all of her genuine affection for him into her undercover persona. But when they got back to the Playground, Jemma would tell Fitz that she loved him, and their relationship could officially change from friendship to something else just as wonderful. Change still terrified her, but now that she knew what kind of change it would be, she thought that the fear might be worth it. She glanced up at his eyes, dark and thoughtful even in the sunlight (as they often were, here) and lifted his hand to press a kiss to his knuckles. _Oh, Fitz_ , she thought to herself, unable to completely tamp down her excitement, _I cannot_ wait _to let myself be in love with you_.


	11. Bring Me Home

_Kidnapping: The Last Day – Day Nine (Part 5)_

 

Jemma awoke suddenly, eyes flying open and heart pounding as the dendrotoxin dissipated from her system. The sky was grey and overly bright above her and she let out a small, pained noise as she squinted, realizing that she couldn’t raise her right hand to shield herself because someone was holding it.

“Jemma!” Fitz moved into her line of sight, a gentle smile on his face, and she realized that he must be the one holding her hand.

“Fitz! What –” She swallowed, her throat too dry to speak.

“Hold on, hold on,” he said, letting go of her and disappearing briefly. Struggling to sit up gracefully on the narrow gurney, Jemma ascertained that she was still in the field, although now it was in the process of being trampled to high heaven by SHIELD agents. Fitz returned quickly with a bottle of water, handing it to her as he set about figuring out how to raise the back of the gurney. “Here you go....”

She uncapped the water and took a quick swig, smiling at his determination to make her comfortable. “I’m fine, Fitz, it was just an ICER –”

“Yeah, well, let me take care of you for a bit anyway, okay?” Finally having figured out the gurney, he straightened and smoothed a few loose hairs off her forehead. “I’m really bloody happy to see you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she nodded. “Me – oh my God,” she breathed, interrupting herself, “Ward!” She grabbed onto Fitz’s sleeve, panic filling her chest as she realized that the gold watch was no longer on her wrist. “No!”

Fitz nodded, rubbing one hand soothingly over her back. “Yeah, he’s gone –”

“No,” she said, horrified, “oh, God, I let him get away –”

“You didn’t –” His brows knit together and he tilted his head down to meet her eyes, but she wasn’t looking at him. How could she have been so _stupid_ as to have ever let her guard down around Ward? Of course, at the time she’d had to choose between being terrified of a madman or trust a murderer, but that didn’t mean she was any less to blame. 

“Yes I did,” she said emphatically. “He got away, and it’s all my fault –”

“No, it’s really not.” Fitz’s tone was odd, almost too certain of what he was saying, and she looked up at him, trying very hard to stay her panic. Taking a glance around, he sighed and sat down by her legs, which she curled to the side in order to make room. “I’ve got a lot to tell you, and I’m... I’m really sorry I had to –” 

“Agent Simmons!” Coulson strode towards them, a tablet tucked under his arm and a pleased grin on his face. “Good to see you’re with us again. How’re you feeling?” 

“Fine, sir,” she answered, glancing between the Director and Fitz to watch for any signs of tension. “Very much looking forward to getting home.” 

“I don’t blame you – we saw that house,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “Not a lot to be said for their décor, although someone has an eye for local breweries.”

“Oh! How is Georgie?” Jemma craned her head to peer around Fitz; there appeared to be a variety of medical professionals gathered near where they’d collapsed. 

“Both of the Wellers will recover,” Coulson said absently, making a few taps on his tablet. “Fitz, I thought you might like to know that it looks like Ward’s removed the first tracker and is on the move. Good idea, building in the dummy one.” 

“Thank you, sir,” he replied, glancing over at Jemma as she frowned. 

“A dummy... you’re tracking him?”

Coulson looked up from the tablet at Fitz and raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t told her yet?”

“Just about to,” Fitz muttered, scratching one hand through his hair.

“Well, I’ll let you get to it.” Coulson crossed his arms over the tablet. “When you’re ready, Trip’s taking you two and Skye back to the base. Lots of clean up to do here, we’ll debrief tomorrow. And, Agent Simmons, to confirm – the oh-eight-four –”

“Destroyed. I’m still unclear about its purpose –”

“Hopefully the Hydra ops we’ve got in custody will clear that up.”

Her eyes widened at that. “There were other Hydra agents here? The scientist and the guard –" 

“Both dead, yes,” Coulson said, anticipating her question. “There was a whole quinjet on the other side of that forest filled with unconscious and partially frozen agents. Seems like they really didn’t expect the Wellers to give up their treasure lightly.”

Jemma remembered, then, the now-dead scientist’s fervent complaints when he’d first arrived. “Donnie froze them before he came out here....”

“Must’ve – and I notice that you haven’t asked about him, so –”

“I saw Ward shoot him.” She closed her eyes and let Fitz pull one of her hands into his before looking up at Coulson. “Donnie orchestrated this whole thing to get to me. He destroyed the oh-eight-four, killed the two Hydra agents, and then was coming after me. Much as I don’t care to admit it – Ward saved my life.”

Coulson raised an eyebrow. “We’ll go over it more fully back at the base. Oh, by the way – you should avoid that corner of the field. Ethan Weller is awake and might question why you two aren’t in handcuffs.” 

“I think our cover’s officially blown, sir,” Fitz chuckled, tugging at his jacket’s zipper.

“Oh, you never know when an opportunity will present itself. A good cover’s a terrible thing to waste.” He gave them both a wry grin, and pointed behind him. “Plane’s that way.” 

They both thanked him and he strolled towards the part of the field where most of the action had happened; Jemma thought she spotted May supervising in the distance. A part of her desperately wanted to go over and instruct the other SHIELD scientists on collecting the fragments of the 084 – if they were going to get any information about it at all then whatever was left would need to be bagged and tagged accordingly. But the more she considered it, the more her exhaustion made itself known, despite her having technically been unconscious until recently. 

“How long was I out?” Jemma slid off the gurney, using Fitz’s knee for balance, and he followed.

“An hour or so. He shot you a couple times.” Fitz grabbed her hand, sliding his fingers between hers, and she let her lips quirk up in a brief smile.

“And just left me alone and unconscious in a field,” she deadpanned. “What a gentleman.”

The corners of Fitz’s lips ticked up at her half-joke. “I don’t think you were alone for long – SHIELD showed up at the house less than an hour after you left, so we got here pretty fast.”

Glancing up at him, Jemma pursed her lips. “So tell me if I’ve got this right, then. You lied to me about breaking Ward out of the Playground –”

“Technically, I _did_ break him out,” Fitz countered, pointedly not looking at her as they entered the gathering of trees. “But it was with Coulson’s permission. Or, instruction, I s’pose.”

“And the watch wasn’t the control –” She was beginning to feel rather stupid; she should’ve known that the watch didn’t make sense.

“Course not – Koenig was operating the dog collar from the Playground. The watch was –”

“– Too small to control something so sensitive –”

“– It could hold a simple control mechanism, like with the stunners, but to calculate for distance, vitals –”

“– Consistent control, power source, and make it reliable and durable –”

“– It had to be operated somewhere else, unless we wanted to risk Ward catching on. Thought you might pick up on the watch, actually,” he teased, eyes twinkling in the mottled sunlight.

Stepping ungracefully over a large branch and using Fitz for balance, Jemma rolled her eyes. “I had other things to be worried about last night, Fitz! Such as you possibly getting court martialed.”

He slowed his pace and squinted over at her. “Well, SHIELD doesn’t actually court martial anyone because we’re not a branch of the military –” 

“Fitz!” She gave his shoulder a pointed shove with her free hand and he winced.

“Right, sorry.”

“The watch was just a decoy, then,” she reasoned, focusing more carefully on not tripping over fallen foliage or roots.

“Yeah, make him think he could take it and get away. The dog collar – not actually a collar, by the way, I need to come up with a better name. Didn’t have much time for brainstorming before we left.” He tried giving her a small smile, but she had too many questions left to humor him. “Anyway, we don’t have any control over him now that he’s removed the main tracker – just eyes in the sky.” 

“Why? Why do all that, why didn’t you tell me?” They’d reached the back edge of the forest, the idling quinjet looming over the young forest at the other end of the clearing, and Jemma stopped to turn towards Fitz. She couldn’t quite help the hurt she felt at being left out; they were partners, and she didn’t understand why he wouldn’t have just told her the plan from the beginning. 

Fitz exhaled, cringing as he held a little more tightly to her hand. “Coulson’s pretty sure that there’s stuff about Hydra he’s not telling us – this was a good way to let Ward think he’d escaped and go about his business, maybe lead us to other strongholds. At least, that’s what he told me – you know the Director. Not one for giving out all his plans.” Taking a pause to gather his thoughts, he reached for her other hand, curling his over hers as he realized that it was cold to the touch. “I wanted to tell you, Jemma, the whole time. But I couldn’t risk Ward hearing, and we were already taking a huge chance staying there longer.” He peered down at her, brows furrowed. “I don’t like keeping things from you – almost broke down the other day when we were at the swings. Was about to, actually, if Skye hadn’t come out. I really am sorry.” 

Jemma gave her head a small shake. “Honestly, it just feels like you couldn’t trust me –”

“I swear, I _swear_ that wasn’t why,” he interrupted, eyes wide and earnest. “There was no place we could go far enough away that I could be _sure_ he wouldn’t hear, especially with the fake distance tether –”

“Fitz, we used to plan whole days just on the other side of the wall from dozens of criminals who would’ve loved to kill us,” she pointed out.

“But none of them are as dangerous as Grant Ward.” He had a point there, and she gave him a reluctant nod. “Besides, we were more careful than that, you know we were.”

“I know, I know,” she said, glancing down at their entwined hands.

“Jemma,” he murmured, urging her to meet his gaze again. “You know my cover would’ve been burned a hundred times over in Atlanta without you. If there’d been any way to bring you in, I would’ve done it right away.”

It was hard for her to resist him on normal days, but right now, with him staring down at her so imploringly – and having been terrified all day that she would never see him again – she couldn’t stop herself from giving in. “Okay.”

“You believe me?”

“Yes,” she replied, smiling when his shoulders relaxed at her answer, and he leaned down to press their foreheads together.

“Good.” 

A particular part of her conversation with Donnie flashed into her head, and she pulled back to study Fitz’s face. “I have a.... Last year, when we were back at the Academy... what did you and Donnie talk about?”

He shifted his gaze over her shoulder, exhaling. “Not much, honestly. Nothing that seemed weird at the time, y’know? We talked about his machine – you know that already – and I said I knew how he felt, about not liking the Academy at first. I mentioned you, and how we finally became friends in chem lab. To let him know that making friends just takes time, y’know, meeting the right people....” 

Jemma couldn’t help the shocked, gaping look on her face, or the way she shook her head, stopping his train of thought. “Finally? Finally became friends? But – you hated me!” 

“What?!” Now it was his turn to stare at her, confusion written in the crease of his brow. “I did not!”

“But... you _did_ ,” she insisted weakly, dropping her gaze as she went through all of their interactions that first term. “You refused to talk to me, you didn’t give me the time of day. You spent every class we had together trying to one-up me!” 

When she met his eyes again, he was staring incredulously back at her, looking almost appalled, and he inhaled before he spoke. “I – I was just trying to get you to notice me. To impress you. Didn’t... um, didn’t want to say the wrong thing, so I just... focused on the work. Figured I'd come up with something eventually if I kept working.” The way his shoulders slumped forward and he ran his words together a little faster made him appear uncannily like the boy she’d first met all of those years ago, the engineering student with the bright eyes and grouchy demeanor. As if describing how he’d acted back then had thrown him into the past itself. “You really thought I _hated_ you?”

“Well, yeah,” Jemma whispered, feeling foolish for the third time today. Except a miscalculation of this magnitude went far beyond the first two; apparently, even before they began sleeping together in Atlanta, she’d never really understood the way Fitz thought about her. “You were clearly the smartest person there, and I was your biggest competition, so I thought....”

“That I hated you for being smarter than me?”

When he phrased it like that, it sounded rather childish in a way she’d never thought she’d been. “I... I don’t know.”

Fitz let out a disbelieving scoff and leaned forward slightly, cupping her cheek in his hand. “What is it with you constantly thinking that I could hate you, or _did_....” 

“It was the only thing that made sense –!”

“When nothing,” he said firmly, his gaze steady, “ _nothing_ , Jemma, could be farther from the truth.”

Then his mouth was moving ardently against hers, her hands fisting into the zipper of his leather jacket to steady herself, and she had the odd, disconnected thought of wondering what her sixteen-year-old self would think if she saw them here now. Eventually, Jemma would want to reanalyze everything she’d thought about their friendship when it first began, and she still had a hundred questions to ask Fitz, not yet fully convinced that there wasn’t at least some small amount of competition in his earliest thoughts towards her. But as she broke away to take a breath, nuzzling against his nose, she decided those questions could wait. Today had been difficult enough for both of them without needing to immediately unearth the very roots of their relationship.

“You know, I never –” Jemma swallowed over the lump forming in her throat. “I didn’t get a chance to say how glad I am to see you.”

Fitz leaned back to look at her, eyes shimmering even in the shade. “Me, too,” he choked out, and then they were in each others’ arms, clinging to each other as tightly as they could. “I’ve never been more terrified in my life, Jemma –” 

“I kept thinking about you,” she whispered, “about who’d take care of you if I was gone.”

“Don’t say things like that.” His voice was tight and sharp, breath feathering the ends of her hair.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” She started pressing kisses along his neck, up to his jaw, then his temple, forehead, nose, and cheeks – anywhere she could reach – as if she could brand him with her lips. When he laughed under her assault, his fear having finally loosened, she met his mouth with hers, stepping in as close to him as was possible without being obscene. His arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her in, and as Jemma angled his mouth open for a deeper kiss she couldn’t help but think: _Mine_.

A subtle shift of his hips against hers reminded her abruptly of where they were and what they needed to be doing, however, so she pulled away, carding her fingers through his hair as she gazed adoringly up at him. Gratifyingly, Fitz looked rather dazed, so she laughed and tugged gently on his wrinkled tie. “Later, Dr. Fitzy.” He let out a low hum of agreement, and she smiled again, turning towards the quinjet and keeping his hand in hers the whole time.

As they reached the end of the loading dock, Jemma was able to see Skye already seated and belted, with Trip kneeling by her injured thigh. An open field medical kit sat next to him, and he was clearly just finishing re-dressing her wound. They were speaking in low voices, but even Jemma could see the way Skye’s whole face lit up as she looked down at him and the way he smiled up at her. In a particularly unsubtle move, Fitz elbowed Jemma and raised an eyebrow when she turned to him.

“Caught on, have you?” She whispered, trying to avoid disturbing the rather adorable scene in front of them, but their boots made an annoyingly loud clanging noise as soon as they stepped onto the actual plane.

Trip turned first and leapt up at the sight of them. “Jemma!” In a few quick strides, he’d reached them and grabbed her up in a big bear hug. “Girl, it’s _so_ good to see you.”

“You, too, Trip,” she chuckled, trying not to feel ridiculous at how high off the ground her feet were dangling. Once he’d gently put her back on the ramp, Trip turned to Fitz, who received a much-more-manly one-armed bro-hug.

“Fitz, you saved the day, man. Damn impressive op.”

Clumsily extricating himself from the much taller man, Fitz ducked his head, a blush creeping up his neck at the attention. “Thanks.”

“My padawan has nothing left to learn,” Trip teased, clapping him on the back before returning to his medical kit. “I’ll be ready to take off in a sec.” As Jemma and Fitz followed him into the plane, he made one last adjustment to Skye’s bandaged leg, which was held out straight in front of her. “Try not to move too much, okay?”

“Yes sir, Doctor Triplett,” Skye answered with a grin. After he stood, Trip brushed aside a loose strand of her hair, his hand lingering next to her cheek. She reached up and threaded their fingers together, giving him an affectionate squeeze. As Jemma flashed an amused look over at Fitz, Trip let go of Skye’s hand in order to pick up the med kit, looking oddly like he’d been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. 

“Almost forgot,” he said, turning to Fitz. “Koenig’s newest brother just messaged in, said they located the guy you were looking for.”

“Shawn Harris?” When Trip nodded, Jemma leaned against Fitz in relief, wrapping her other hand around his arm.

“SHIELD’s got ‘im now, so at least Hydra won’t be able to retaliate,” Trip added, and then gestured to the seats. “Strap in, take-off’s in five.” 

“I’m glad you’re okay, Jems,” Skye said, reaching out to squeeze Jemma’s hand as she moved towards an adjacent seat, and Jemma gave her a fond smile. 

“What about me?” Fitz teased, avoiding her swat as he darted around to the seat next to Jemma.

“I just spent all day with you, you goober.” Skye stuck out her tongue, and Jemma laughed at the faux-indignant look Fitz gave in reply. “But, yeah, I’m glad you’re safe, too.” 

“What’ll happen to them, d’you think?” Fitz mused as he fastened his harness. “To the Harrises?”

“Well, they’re both criminals,” Jemma started, securing her own buckles, “so they _should_ be handed over to the government. But Trip did just make an excellent point that Hydra will be out for their blood – perhaps SHIELD will relocate them. Provide some sort of witness protection program.” She reached over and took his hand, linking their fingers. “At the very least, Georgie will be immensely relieved to see Shawn again, even if they are separated by the judicial system. You should have seen her this morning, Fitz, when she told me that she’d exchanged me for Shawn, she was so distraught –”

“She did what?” He shot forward, staring at her as he met resistance from his seatbelt.

Jemma cringed at the harshness of his tone. “Fitz –”

“That – _that’s_ why you had to go on your own? Because Georgie _traded_ you –”

“Fitz,” she said, shifting as much as she could in her harness so that she could slide one hand behind his neck and scratch her fingers through his hair. “Shhh, don’t....” 

Meeting her imploring gaze, his anger melted quickly out of his face, and he slouched back in his seat. “I can’t believe I ever even sorta liked her,” he grumbled, but the words were mostly without bite. Jemma hid a smile at the way he tilted instinctively into her touch; he always had rather liked being petted. “Bloody criminals, can’t trust any of them.”

“Funny how that works,” Skye said drily, eyes closed and head leaned back against her seat. “Criminals, not the most trustworthy. Who’da thunk it.” 

Jemma let out a small tsk, shooting her grinning friend a glare, and let out a sigh. “I don’t... oh, I don’t know Fitz, I’m not sure I can blame her. She’s had no idea where Shawn was, or even if he was alive, for months.” The three of them turned as the loading dock began to close next to them, the smooth whirr of machinery blocking out the chilled, windy clearing.

Turning away from the plane’s exit, Fitz’s lips thinned and he tilted his head up to the ceiling. “I s’pose I understand that. I didn’t know where you were for only two days and I was going absolutely spare. Didn’t sleep. May had to make me eat.” 

“Oh, Fitz,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles.

“Yeah. Not great.” He inhaled and gave her a quick smile. “Got better once we knew where you were, though – had something to focus on.”

Skye’s palm made sharp contact with Jemma’s bicep and she let out a small noise of indignation. “Shhh, you guys – listen.” With a gradual swooping motion, the plane rose off the ground, and a wave of tension that Jemma hadn’t even realized she been feeling released from her shoulders. “You were right, y’know.”

Jemma turned more fully to raise an eyebrow at Skye, keeping her hand wrapped tightly around Fitz’s. “Wait – you’re admitting that I’m right about something?” 

Skye rolled her eyes. “Oh shut up, I compliment you all the time, two genius idiots.” 

“I think that’s an oxymoron –”

“Fitz,” Jemma interrupted, and he closed his mouth with a sheepish grin.

“God, you two are so cute it’s nauseating,” Skye groaned, tipping her head back against her seat again. “And you’ve totally ruined my warm fuzzy moment, so thanks.”

Jemma made an amused _awwww_ ing sound and poked her friend in the side. “I’m sorry, what was I right about?”

Not lifting fully off the cushion, Skye tilted her head and gave Jemma a soft smile. “You got us out of there.”

Feeling very suddenly like one of the luckiest people in the world, Jemma reached over and grabbed Skye’s hand. After having survived another harrowing, horrifying ordeal, now she was sitting in between her two favorite people in the world and they were on their way home. They’d made it. 

“I couldn’t have done it without Fitz,” Jemma said, turning to give the man in question a grateful smile. 

He made a little scoff and settled further into his seat. “Yeah, you could’ve,” he replied, and she rolled her eyes at his refusal to accept his own significant contribution to the whole affair. 

“Technically, Fitz, no, I couldn’t have, although I appreciate the sentiment. Would you just accept that you were instrumental in saving us, please?”

A smirk spread across his face, and his gaze dropped briefly to her lips. “If I do, do I get a reward of some sort?”

“Ewwwwwww,” whined Skye, covering her face with her hands. “I’m injured, I haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours, and now I have to hear about nerd sex.”

“Oh shush, or I’ll record the so-called ‘nerd sex’ and have Fitz make it your ringtone.”

“Hey, I almost forgot to ask,” Skye said, sitting upright and shifting around in her seat. “What’d Donnie want from you?” 

Jemma felt Fitz stiffen beside her and she squeezed his hand. “I think maybe I should tell you later. Once we’ve all had some time to rest up.” 

Fitz inhaled thinly and closed his eyes. “Yeah. Probably best to wait until I can hold onto you properly while you tell me.”

Nodding, Skye gave her a sly grin. “Yeah, same. Never miss an opportunity for a Simmons hug.”

Jemma let out a quiet snort and shook her head. “Did Trip by any chance give you something for your leg before we got here?”

Skye shrugged very not-nonchalantly. “Maybe. And maybe I’m just real psyched to be only a couple hours away from a hot shower.”

Their laughter faded into the steady hum of the plane’s engines, and the three of them lapsed into silence. Rather than think about the place they were headed – however appealing clean clothes and a real bed may sound – Jemma’s thoughts drifted back to the man whose hand she still held, and she turned to him. Fitz’s eyes were closed, but after a few moments of her gaze they flickered open, as if he’d sensed her studying him.

“Penny for your thoughts?” His voice was weary but his eyes shone as he looked at her, their familiar blue shadowed in the quinjet’s dim lighting, and Jemma let an affectionate smile spread across her face.

She brought his hand up to press her lips to his knuckles, amused by the happy little sound he made in response. “You know how much I love you, right?”

Regret flickered briefly across his face, and he reached between them to encircle her hand with both of his. “Yeah, I do.”

“Good.” She smiled, and he held her gaze for a long while after that, neither needing to say much at the moment. But in the future, Jemma was going to be much better about telling Fitz her feelings rather than simply showing them and hoping he understood, because if the past few days had made anything clear it was that, sometimes, words were just as necessary as actions.

 

\------

 

_Mission: Eighty-Seventh Day_

 

A car drove noisily underneath their window, tires splashing through stagnant rainwater left over from the wee hours of that morning, and was the first thing of which Jemma was conscious upon waking. Curling further under rumpled sheets, she realized that she wasn’t wearing any pajamas, and then images from the night before filtered quickly through her mind. What Fitz had looked like lying between her legs, pleasuring her with his mouth, the dark fire of his eyes when he thrust inside her, the soft smile he’d given her right before they fell asleep tangled in each others’ arms. Heat rose to her cheeks and she turned her face into the cool cloth of the pillow, noting how it smelled faintly of sweat. She’d had sex with her best friend last night and it had been good. _Really_ good.

The realization, then, that Fitz was no longer in the bed with her was more than a small disappointment; she rather liked cuddling with her sexual partner in the morning. At some point as they’d slept, she remembered fading into consciousness just long enough to notice that he was curled around her back, both unashamed of their nudity while sleeping. One hand had been splayed firmly over her abdomen, holding her tightly and affectionately against him, warmth spreading out from his touch. Sleep had claimed her again momentarily, but she couldn’t quite shake that latent feeling of being happily surrounded by Fitz.

After a few more moments under the covers, Jemma turned over and stretched, wincing as a variety of muscles made their complaints known. It really had been far too long since she’d had sex with anyone, she mused, taking stock of the other, more pleasant aftereffects that she was currently enjoying. One such effect was the rush of appreciation she felt for her best friend – she’d never expected to share this particular form of intimacy with Fitz, but it probably shouldn’t surprise her that they’d been just as compatible in bed as they were out of it. Besides, he’d done a marvelous job of staying in character most of the time, his touches and kisses feeling stunningly like that of an adoring and eager husband, and hopefully that would mean their cover was safe for the time being. Why the Wellers and their lackeys were so interested in the Harker-Fitzgeralds’ bedroom activities would probably always be beyond her comprehension, but it was certainly something that they could continue to demonstrate as long as they remained undercover.

The sound of a flush emanated from the bathroom, and her own body’s morning needs made themselves known. Sitting clumsily up, Jemma winced again and stretched her legs, hoping that she’d be able to conceal this residual soreness until it dissipated – Fitz would be sweet but mildly infuriating if he thought he’d hurt her in any way, and she didn’t particularly relish having to reassure him every fifteen minutes that she was fine. That being said, the thought of his attentiveness made her smile, and she slid out of bed to hunt for her underwear and blouse. She came up with his undershirt before finding hers, and, figuring that he didn’t need it if he’d just left it there, slipped it on after her knickers.

Padding quickly to the bathroom and hugging herself against the room’s chill, Jemma paused with her hand raised as the door creaked open. A warm, fuchsia light arced through the small, high window, washing over Fitz where he stood at the sink and making him look rather like the subject of an urban photography exhibit. His curls were in post-sleep disarray as he half-smiled around his toothbrush and handed over hers. Jemma took the offering and her breath made a little hitch at seeing the daub of toothpaste he’d obviously added before giving it to her. The gesture was so very Fitz and yet spoke of something else that she couldn’t quite define, and a new feeling took root in her chest. Something unfamiliar and yet familiar at once, something warm and a little frightening, something that she couldn’t and wouldn’t try to explain, something that felt – oddly – like it should have been there all along. She blinked and gave her head a brief shake; she was being ridiculous. It was just a little toothpaste, after all.

After she thanked him, they brushed their teeth in silence, although she couldn’t quite stop herself from sneaking glances at him around the other side of the sink, and she thought she saw his eyes flicker away just as often. Once he’d finished, Fitz slid behind her in the narrow room and briefly put his hand on her hip. The heat his fingers left brought out the memory of when he’d held tightly to about the same place the night before, helping to control her movements as her body bucked into its release. A blush bloomed on her cheeks and she hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“So, um, how’re... y’know, you doing? This morning?” He was half leaning against the doorway, one hand scratching nervously through his hair. 

Taking a moment to spit out the last of her paste and rinse her mouth, Jemma smiled up at him, self-consciously running her fingers through her own, tangled locks. “Well,” she answered warmly. “ _Very_ well.”

Fitz’s eyes brightened at her answer, a relieved grin breaking across his face. “Good, that’s good. Me, too.” They stood there smiling at each other for probably just a little too long, until he ducked and shook his head, as if he’d just realized what he was doing. “I, uh, I know it’s early – wasn’t planning on staying awake, actually, but I’m sort of –”

“Filled with energy?”

“Yeah, exactly. So I thought maybe I could make pancakes or something. If you’re hungry.”

Ignoring her rather strange urge to reach out and smooth her hands along his bare chest, Jemma gave him a sheepish smile. “Starving, actually. Pancakes sound fantastic.”

“Great,” he breathed, straightening and backing into the bedroom. “I’ll go fire up the burner.”

“I’ll be there in a minute.” 

Fitz’s gaze trailed down to her bare legs for half a second before snapping back up to her eyes, his ears reddened, and then he shot out of the room. Pulling her bottom lip between her teeth to stifle the grin she couldn’t quite contain, Jemma closed the door and then went about her morning routine as quickly as possible.

By the time she traipsed out into the main room of the apartment, Fitz had an array of ingredients laid out on what little counter space they had, and he glanced up at her. Suppressing his own smile, he dropped his eyes back to the mixing bowl before he spoke. “Don’t think I didn’t notice that you stole my shirt, y’know.”

Jemma raised an eyebrow, one finger twisting into the hem of said shirt as she made her way around the couch and over to him. “Damn, and I was _so_ trying to hide that.”

He laughed, eyes shining as he grinned at her again. “All-around unrepentant criminal, you are.”

Humming in unconcerned agreement, Jemma hesitated at the end of the counter, watching him scroll through what was presumably a recipe on his phone as she fought with her own instincts. After a few moments, though, she gave in and stepped forward to wrap her arms around his waist, leaning her cheek against his back. He froze briefly at her sudden movement but relaxed once he realized what she was doing, reaching down to hug his arms over hers.

“Last night went _so_ well, Fitz,” she murmured, warm breath washing over his shoulder and triggering a small shiver from him.

“Yeah?” His voice was quiet and breathless, and she smiled again, nuzzling against his skin.

“Yes. Of course, we won’t really know until we see how they treat us today, but I’m confident we passed their test with full marks.” 

“Right, yeah,” Fitz answered, although the flat note beneath his words was a little odd.

Jemma hummed and let her eyes slip closed, leaning her weight more fully against him. “Can we just stay like this for a bit? You’re nice and warm.”

Fitz chuckled, rubbing a hand over her arm. “Yeah, course we can. Anything you want, Jemma.”

A yawn escaped her throat and she cuddled in a little closer, ignoring the thought that she wasn’t normally this tactile with her best friend. For the moment, Jemma was very comfortable letting Fitz take her weight, entirely unable to think of any place in the world that she’d rather be right now than with him, here in this tiny, dingy apartment.

 

\------

 

_Sixty-Eight Days After the Kidnapping_

 

Today had not been an especially productive workday for Jemma. To be fair, a large part of that was Fitz’s fault, as she’d been preoccupied by worrying about him, and eventually he’d get a good talking-to for being so irresponsible. She hadn’t been able to concentrate at all until about an hour and a half ago when she’d received a message from him, and then she’d spent the intervening time trying to decide how he would get to make it up to her. Currently, having him help her brush up on the most current autopsy techniques was winning out, although a week’s worth of massages was vying for top spot. (Sexual favors had occurred to her briefly, but, frankly, she knew exactly how much he liked making her come – it just didn’t seem like a proper punishment if he was enjoying himself too much.)

Sighing, Jemma shut down the simulation she hadn’t been paying attention to and swiveled around in her chair – only to jump a foot in the air at the sight of Skye standing right behind her.

“Bloody hell!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Skye laughed, holding her hands out in a placating gesture. “Just thought you’d wanna know that their SUV is about to pull into the garage.”

“Oh, excellent!” Jemma jumped off of her stool and fell into step next to Skye. “I’m going to kill Fitz.”

Skye shot her a droll look, dodging lab tables as they navigated the bustling room and exited to the corridor. “Is that British slang for sex?”

“Fitz forgot to tell me when they arrived at the warehouse,” Jemma explained, taking brief note of the way her friend’s current hairstyle suited her. She still had bangs, but her hair was up in a high ponytail and a few tendrils hung down to frame her face, making her look sort of relaxed and professional. But then again, Jemma thought, it could just be the happiness that practically radiated from Skye these days, as if all of the bad things from the past two years had been washed away by the present.  

“Oh, yeah,” Skye agreed with an amused nod, stepping aside to let Jemma through a doorway first. “Kill him, definitely.” 

“I’ll tell him you agree with me.” Jemma grinned, but paused as Skye swore and pulled out her mobile.

“Can’t believe I almost forgot – they moved the Harrises again.” Tapping a few buttons, Skye pulled up a blurry CCTV screenshot of two people being ushered into a car with tinted windows. “One of their old crew sniffed ‘em out, but this time the Marshals are moving them to Alaska.” At Jemma’s dry look, Skye raised her hands. “It was an easy hack, okay? And I helped bulk up their firewall while I was in there – you’d think witness protection would have better servers.” 

Shaking her head at her friend’s compulsive law breaking, Jemma turned to continue to the Playground’s garage. “How long do you think they’ll be able to stay put this time?”

“Dunno, Jems,” Skye answered, tucking her mobile back into her pocket. “Don’t you think they have to settle down eventually?” 

As they strode through the large, metal doors, Jemma first remembered the brassy woman who loved her freedom, and then the exhaustion etched on Georgie’s face when she’d been separated from Shawn. “No idea,” she said. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.”

“And hope,” Skye added, giving Jemma a small smile.

The sound of car doors slamming echoed through the cavernous garage, and Jemma couldn’t stop herself from speeding up, pulse quickening ever-so-slightly as she caught a glimpse of Fitz when he rounded the SUV. Having just raised the trunk, Trip saw the two women approach first but Jemma breezed past him to continue towards Fitz, who turned around just in time for her to throw her arms around his neck. With a small “ _oof_ ,” he wrapped his arms around her in turn, lifting her instinctively off the ground. 

“Hi, Fitz,” she murmured right up against his ear, and he chuckled, fitting her more comfortably against him. 

“Hi to you, too. It’s not like we only saw each other seven hours ago or anything.”

Loosening her arms so she could slide back onto the floor, Jemma gave him a chaste kiss before swatting his arm, her skin making a sharp slap against the leather of his new jacket (her holiday present to him this year). “You forgot to text me when you got there.” 

“Ah, shite.” His face fell, and he shared a brief look with Trip, who raised an eyebrow before pressing a quick kiss to Skye’s cheek. 

Shaking her head, Skye reached for one of the bigger boxes from the trunk. “C’mon,” she directed at Trip, “I don’t want to be here when the bloodshed starts.” 

He laughed, grabbing another box before following her around the car. “Good luck with that one, Fitz.”

“You’re both completely useless,” Fitz muttered, peering at Jemma through his eyelashes. “I remembered to tell you we were on our way back, though.” 

Jemma rolled her eyes, leaning forward to collect one of the two lab supplies boxes in the trunk. “That’s just because before you left I said we’d have time for dessert tonight.” 

“To be fair,” he argued, grabbing the other box, following her across the concrete floor, and narrowly dodging the other agents coming to help unload the rest of their purchases. “We had dessert before I left, too.” 

She gave him a dry look. “Oh, is that too much for you in one day?”

“What? No!” He interrupted himself with a small grunt, balancing the box rather precariously as he propped open the door for her. “I just meant that it wasn’t the main reason why I remembered to text you.” Jemma made a small huff, not genuinely annoyed enough to berate him, and he exhaled, eyes on her as they strode through a hallway in the direction of their lab. “I’m sorry I forgot. Honestly, I was just distracted.” 

“Oh well,” she said with a smile, taking her turn to prop up her box and open the next door they approached. “I suppose I forgive you. How did it go?”

“Just fine.” He didn’t meet her eyes as he passed through the doorway, busy shifting his box around in his arms. “Trip got waylaid by the kitchen supplies again.”

“Please,” Jemma teased, catching up with his slightly longer stride. “As if you don’t encourage him.” 

The last time Trip and Fitz had gone on a supply run together, they’d returned with all the gadgets required to make homemade pasta, and the whole team had eaten nothing but her and Trip’s Italian creations for the next three weeks. (Skye had complained that she’d gained at least five pounds while Fitz never seemed to change size at all, but stopped once Jemma reminded her that Trip had been helping her “work off” the extra carbs anyway.)

“Nothing new this time, though,” Fitz said with an exaggerated sigh, preceding Jemma through the lab door. “We’re just gonna have to make do with the mess hall for a while.”

“Pity.” Peering over the box she was preparing to unpack, Jemma watched him shrug off his jacket and then flipped open the cardboard. “Do you want to go back to your room, first? I can manage –”

“Nah,” he said, interrupting her and tossing his jacket over a nearby lab stool. “I want to help – ‘sides, I got a new miniature nano-soldering iron that I’m itching to try out.”

Rolling her eyes at his carelessness, Jemma released a small _tsk_ and reached for his jacket. “Honestly, Fitz, the hooks are right over –”

His eyes bulged as she grabbed the leather, his hands shooting out to stop her. “No, it’s fine –” 

Before he could grab the thing, she heard a loud crinkle come from one of the inner pockets. “Fitz, you forgot something....” Her voice trailed off, however, as she pulled out the offending object: A clear, plastic bag, within which rested a turquoise jewelry box.

“Oh, hell,” Fitz muttered as she stared, wide-eyed, up at him. For a few moments, they just looked at each other over the jacket and box, sounds of normal, everyday lab work continuing to bustle around them. “You were right, should’ve gone back to the room. Easier to hide things there than in the lab.” He gave her a shaky grin, but she couldn’t put together a proper reaction yet, let alone smile back. 

Jemma was torn between asking what was going on – which seemed patently ridiculous, because she wasn’t dense enough to not actually know the answer – and wanting very much to sit down. A fuzzy ringing noise in her ears dulled the chatter of other agents strolling through the lab and hallways, and her heart began beating rather wildly in her chest.

Shaking his head, Fitz gently pulled the bag out of her hands; the jacket fell onto the floor at his feet, but neither of them paid it any mind. “I, uh, had a whole plan, y’know. Already asked Coulson for time away and everything. But, um, it – it doesn’t seem to make sense to wait now. Right?” Jemma didn’t answer, and he swallowed thickly. “Yeah, no. So, I’m just gonna....” He lowered himself onto the lab’s linoleum floor, wobbling slightly as he propped himself up on one knee and then shed the box’s plastic covering.

When he inhaled, though, Jemma found herself sinking onto the floor in front of him, reaching her hands forward. “Oh, _Fitz_ –” 

He froze, frowning at her in bemusement and recoiling slightly. “Jemma, what’re you doing?”

She blinked, hands held awkwardly between them. “I was going to kiss you.”

“But I haven’t even said anything yet –”

“I didn’t really think about it, I just –”

“I’ve got a whole speech I wanted to say –”

“Then stop bickering with me and get on with it,” she laughed, pressing one hand to her chest as if that could contain everything she was feeling at that moment. 

Staring at her, Fitz stopped with his mouth hanging open, and then raised the jewelry box once again, holding it up between them with a small chuckle. “Bossy. Anyway I... ah, I needed you to, um, to know that I... that you... oh, sod the speech, I’m too nervous to remember it now.” He reached out to take her hand, tangling their fingers together as if to abate some of his nerves. “I just wanted to ask if you might want to, ah, actually marry me now, maybe spend the rest of our lives together, as ourselves, with our real names and personalities, here at SHIELD. So –” Fitz paused, taking a deep breath before finishing. “Will you be my wife, Jemma Simmons?”

“Only if you’ll be my husband, Leopold Fitz,” she breathed without pause, unable to contain herself any longer and wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders.

As he laughed into her hair, the vibrations rumbling pleasantly through where their chests were pressed together, Jemma was very nearly convinced that she was the happiest person in the universe. Meeting her favorite person when she was sixteen was lucky enough, but now – thanks to a couple of extraordinarily dangerous missions and a lot of hard work – she was going to spend the rest of her life with him. In some ways, once they returned from dealing with the Wellers the second time they’d both known they would always be together, their arguments in that isolated, dilapidated house having forced them through a lot of difficult relationship work in a short amount of time. In the end, they’d come out of the whole affair that much stronger and so much surer of themselves and the reality of being _together_ than they had been before. But now they would make it official, and even though she knew that marriage was ultimately an arbitrary social construct, Jemma couldn’t wait to be able to call Fitz her husband – and have it actually mean something this time. 

Pulling back from his embrace, Jemma placed her hands on either side of his jaw and stared deeply into his eyes, wanting to memorize every navy fleck within the lighter blue of his irises. “I love you, Fitz,” she said, both of them breaking into wide smiles.

“And I love you, Jemma.” He leaned down to brush his lips against hers, and she suddenly realized that in some ways they were back where they’d started – a kiss in their lab. Unable to rein in her joy, Jemma sighed against Fitz’s mouth, pressing in a little more firmly and curling her fingers into his hair. Neither of them was perfect, but they cared for each other in the best way that they could, and in the end that was exactly the right way for them to love each other: Equally, fiercely, and for the rest of their lives.

 

\------

 

**_The End (For Real, This Time)_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy doodle, that's all, folks. thank you so much to everyone who encouraged me at every stage of this process, from MK (who dealt with my constant neuroses) to those who left comments week after week - I couldn't have done this one without you guys!
> 
> EDIT: You can find a small flufflet that takes place after this fic [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3339782/chapters/14407645)!


End file.
